Maori and Settler: A Story of The New Zealand War. Henty George Alfred

no inclination for talking. Snugly as Mr. Atherton had wedged her in with pillows and cushions, it was as much as she could do to retain her seat, as the vessel rolled till the lower yards almost touched the water, and she was too absorbed in the wild grandeur of the scene to want companionship.

      "The captain says the glass is beginning to rise," Mr. Atherton said as he met her the fourth morning of the gale; "and that he thinks the worst is over."

      "I shall be glad for the sake of the others," Marion replied, "for the sea to go down. Father and mother are both quite worn out; for it is almost impossible for them to sleep, as they might be thrown out of their berths if they did not hold on. For myself, I am in no hurry for the gale to be over, it is so magnificently grand. Don't you think so, Mr. Atherton?"

      "It is grand, lassie, no doubt," Mr. Atherton said; "but I have rather a weakness for dry clothes and comfortable meals – to say nothing of being able to walk or sit perpendicularly, and not being obliged constantly to hold on for bare life. This morning I feel that under happier circumstances I could enjoy a steak, an Irish stew, and a couple of eggs, but a biscuit and a cup of coffee are all I can hope for."

      "I believe you enjoy it as much as I do, Mr. Atherton," the girl said indignantly; "else why do you stay upon deck all the time in spite of the wind and spray?"

      "Well, you see, Miss Renshaw, you ladies have an objection to my smoking my pipe below; and besides, what with the groans and moans from the cabins, and the clatter of the swinging trays, and the noise of the waves, and one thing and another, there is little to tempt me to stay below. But really I shall be very glad when it is over. The ship has been doing splendidly; and as the wind has blown from the same quarter the whole time, the sea though very high is regular, and everything is going on well. Still a gale is a gale, and you can never answer for the vagaries of the wind. If it were to veer round to another quarter, for instance, you would in a few hours get a broken sea here that would astonish you, and would try all the qualities of the Flying Scud. Then again we have been running south with tremendous speed for the last three days, and if it were to go on for a few days longer we might find ourselves down among the ice. Therefore, I say, the sooner the gale is over the better I shall be pleased."

      Towards evening there was a sensible abatement in the force of the wind, and the following morning the gale had so far abated that the captain prepared to haul his course for the west.

      "We have been running south at the rate of fully three hundred miles a day," he said, "and are now very far down. The moment this warm wind drops and we get it from the south you will find that you will need every wrap you have to keep you warm. If the gale had lasted I had made up my mind to try to get her head to it, and to lie to. We are a great deal too close to the region of ice to be pleasant."

      The change in the course of the vessel was by no means appreciated by the passengers, for the motion was very much rougher and more unpleasant than that to which they had now become accustomed. However, by the following morning the wind had died away to a moderate breeze, and the sea had very sensibly abated. The topsails were shaken out of their reefs; and although the motion was still violent most of the passengers emerged from their cabins and came on deck to enjoy the sun, which was now streaming brightly through the broken clouds. The captain was in high glee; the ship had weathered the gale without the slightest damage. Not a rope had parted, not a sail been blown away, and the result fully justified the confidence he felt in his ship and her gear.

      "It is a comfort," he remarked, "to sail under liberal owners. Now, my people insist on having their ships as well found as possible, and if I condemn spars, sails, ropes, or stays, they are replaced without a question. And it is the cheapest policy in the long run. There is nothing so costly as stinginess on board a ship. The giving way of a stay may mean the loss of the mast and all its gear, and that may mean the loss of a ship. The blowing away of a sail at a critical moment may mean certain disaster; and yet there are many owners who grudge a fathom of new rope or a bolt of canvas, and who will risk the safety of their vessels for the petty economy of a few pounds."

      The next day the wind had dropped entirely. The topgallant masts were sent up with their yards and sails, and by dinner-time the Flying Scud looked more like herself. As soon as the wind lulled all on board were conscious of a sudden fall of temperature. Bundles of wraps were undone and greatcoats and cloaks got out, and although the sun was still shining brightly the poop of the Flying Scud soon presented a wintry appearance. There was no sitting about now. Even the ladies had abandoned their usual work, and by the sharp walking up and down on deck it was evident that even the warm wraps were insufficient in themselves, and that brisk exercise was necessary to keep up the circulation.