The Voyage Alone in the Yawl "Rob Roy" by John MacGregor

Author:John MacGregor [MacGregor, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DigiCat
Published: 2022-09-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XIII.

Table of Contents

Half-seas over—Thick night—Risky—Reckless—Tied in—Lying-to—Land ahead—Scottish replies—Sleep.

See the sails are impatiently flapping. Each wave jerks the mast and canvas with a smart loud crack like that of a whip. The sound is unspeakably irritating, it seems so useless and wanton, and so perfectly de trop while the wind is absolutely calm. At other times, in such a case, you can stop this provoking clatter by hauling up the boom and lowering the jib; but here, in mid ocean, we must not hamper the sails but be ready for the first faint breath of wind, and moreover—best to confess it—I had in this case a serious disturbance within, yet not mental. Strawberries and cream imprisoned with mushrooms did not agree.

They called them mushrooms in Havre yesterday, and we know “there are 371 edible fungi;” but I assert that the rebellious species embarked with me were toadstools, and so giddiness followed upon sleep . . .

Gentle and cool is the first fresh murmur of a new breeze as it comes from afar, tripping along. Gratefully we watch its footsteps on the sea. Its garments rustle in the south, and the glassy rounded waves are now crested by its touch. Then the coolness of it fans the cheek, the flag flutters while the sails fill full, the mast bows gently under the soft pressure, and the Rob Roy runs eagerly again upon her proper course.

Dinner was instantly served up to celebrate the event. It is an Englishman’s way. Still we were fifty miles from England, but wave after wave rose, dashed, and was left behind, till the sun got weary in his march, and hung, in the west, a great red globe. My course had been taken for the Nab light, which is in the entrance towards Portsmouth, but the Channel tide, crossing my path twice, could carry the yawl fast, yet secretly, first right, then left, and both ways once again.

Yet when the evening shade fell we expected to see at least some light in the horizon, for the English lights are clear, and they shine out twenty miles to sea. How I peered into the inscrutable darkness, and standing by the mast to get higher, but in vain; yet still the wind urged on, and the sea tumbled forward all in the right way. Hours passed, and ship-lights now could be descried; they were crossing my path, for they were in the great fair-way of nations bound east or west through the Channel. This at least was company, but it was also danger. We have left the lonely plain, and are walking now in the street of waters; but how am I to sleep here, and yet I must sleep this night. I tried to “speak” a goodly vessel sailing past like a shadow—I ventured even to near it—hailing, “How far to the Nab?” but the voice melted in the breeze. Low vapoury clouds began to rise from the sea; they looked like dark trees around; but the stars were clear up above.

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