Harry Collingwood
The Missing Merchantman
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4064066162696
Table of Contents
Chapter Two.
On board the “Flying Cloud.”
The weather was gloriously fine; much too fine, indeed, to suit Captain Blyth, for, as he and his friend Captain Spence had foreseen, the easterly breeze which had prevailed for so long had at length died completely away, leaving the surface of the river as smooth as a sheet of polished silver. The air had grown much warmer, a sure precursor of a southerly wind; and the ladies had, in consequence, changed their dresses immediately after luncheon, discarding the woollen fabrics in which they had embarked and substituting for them dainty costumes of cool, light, flimsy material, arrayed in which they established themselves for the afternoon on the poop.
It was somewhat late that night when the Flying Cloud rounded the North Foreland; and, as Captain Blyth had feared, the little breeze which had sprung up with the setting of the sun was all out from the southward. There was, however, a capital moon, almost full; the tide, too, was in their favour. So, instead of anchoring in the Downs until next day, as had been his first intention, he determined to keep on; and all sail was accordingly made upon the ship as soon as the tug had cast off the tow-rope. A stretch was made across the channel towards the French coast, in the direction of Gravelines; and great was the satisfaction of all hands when they found that the ship, on a taut bowline, and with only wind enough to heel her some six inches under every stitch of plain sail they could set upon her, was slipping along through the water at the rate of fully five knots, and that, too, so cleanly that the ripple under the bows was inaudible to the men on the forecastle unless they put their heads over the side and listened for it, whilst scarcely a whirl or a bubble was to be seen in the long smooth wake which she left behind her.
The breeze continued scant all night, notwithstanding which the Flying Cloud was, at eight o’clock next morning, as close to the French coast as Captain Blyth cared to take her, and she was accordingly hove about, the wind so far favouring her that it was confidently hoped she would weather Beachy Head and so pass out clear of everything. With the rising of the sun the wind gave promise of freshening, which promise was so far fulfilled that by noon the ship was skimming along at a pace of over nine knots an hour, she being at the time just abreast of Calais. The breeze still increasing, and the tide being again in their favour, Cape Grisnez was passed little more than an hour later; and then, running out from under the lee of the land, the swell of the channel almost immediately began to make itself felt. The full strength of the wind at the same time also became apparent, and the ship, now heeling over sufficiently to send the water spouting up through the scupper-holes with every lee-roll, increased her pace to a fair, honest ten knots, steering “full and by.” Captain Blyth was simply enchanted with the performance of his new command, feeling fully convinced (though he did not yet venture to give utterance to his conviction) that in her, that hitherto invincible clipper, the Southern Cross, would at length assuredly find she had met her match. By three o’clock Dungeness was broad on the lee-bow; by four o’clock it was fairly abaft the beam; and when the passengers went on deck after dinner they found the ship in the act of weathering Beachy, though without very much room to spare, the wind evincing an inclination to veer round from the westward. At eight o’clock next morning, when Ned came on deck to keep the forenoon watch, he saw that he was on familiar ground, the ship being about midway between Saint Catherine’s Point and Saint Alban’s Head, the high land at the east end of the Isle of Wight looming like a white cloud on the horizon astern, or rather on the starboard quarter, whilst Saint Alban’s gleamed brilliantly in the bright sunlight on the starboard bow. The ship was still close-hauled on the larboard tack and going about six knots, the wind having headed her somewhat during the night and fallen lighter. The weather was magnificent, and everybody was in capital spirits. Captain Blyth was pleased because, though the ship was not just then travelling at any great speed, he had at all events got half-way down the channel; the passengers were pleased because they were having such a splendid view of the coast—with the prospect of getting a still better view later on in the day, as Ned informed them—and most pleased of all was Ned himself, because he not only looked forward to getting one more glimpse of dear old Weymouth itself, but also hoped to be able to make his near vicinity known to his father.
Noon found the Flying Cloud abreast of Saint Alban’s Head and within half a mile of the shore; and, this bold promontory once rounded, all hands found themselves face to face with that magnificent panorama of rolling downs, smiling valleys, tiny strips of snow-white beach, and lofty precipitous chalk-cliffs, which help to make the scenery of Weymouth Bay one of the fairest prospects within the boundaries of the British island.
The ship was reaching right down along the coast at a distance of