Hudson Bay | Page 4

didn't often come to the surface. The first mate was a broad
Scotchman, in every sense of the term; the second was a burly little
Englishman.

"How's the wind, Collins?" said the captain, as the second mate sat
down at the dinner-table, and brushed the spray from his face with the
back of his brown hand.
"Changed a point to the s'uthard o' sou'-west, sir," he answered, "and
looks as if it would blow hard."
"Humph!" ejaculated the captain, while he proceeded to help the fish.
"I hope it'll only keep quiet till we get into blue water, and then it may
blow like blazes for all I care,--Take some trout, doctor? It's the last
you'll put your teeth through for six weeks to come, I know; so make
the most of it.--I wish I were only through the Pentland Firth, and
scudding under full sail for the ice--I do." And the captain looked
fiercely at the compass which hung over his head, as if he had said
something worthy of being recorded in history, and began to eat.
After a pause of five minutes or so--during which time the knives and
forks had been clattering pretty vigorously, and the trout had become a
miserable skeleton--the captain resumed his discourse.
"I tell you what it is now, gentlemen; if there's not going to be a change
of some sort or other, I'm no sailor."
"It does look very threatening," said Mr Carles, peering through the
stern window. "I don't much like the look of these clouds behind us.
Look there, doctor!" he continued, pointing towards the window.
"What do you think of that?"
"Nothing!" replied the doctor, through a mouthful of duff and potatoes.
"A squall, I fancy; wish it'd only wait till after dinner."
"It never does," said the captain. "I've been to sea these fifteen years,
and I always find that squalls come on at breakfast or dinner, like an
unwelcome visitor. They've got a thorough contempt for tea-- seem to
know it's but swipes, and not worth pitching into one's lap; but dinner's
sure to bring 'em on, if they're in the neighbourhood, and make 'em
bu'st their cheeks at you. Remember once, when I was cruising in the
Mediterranean, in Lord P---'s yacht, we'd been stewing on deck under

an awning the whole forenoon, scarce able to breathe, when the bell
rang for dinner. Well, down we all tumbled--about ten ladies and
fifteen gentlemen, or thereabouts--and seated ourselves round the table.
There was no end of grub of every kind. Lord P--- was eccentric in that
way, and was always at some new dodge or other in the way of cookery.
At this time he had invented a new dumpling. Its jacket was much the
same as usual--inch-thick duff; but its contents were beyond anything I
ever saw, except the maw of an old shark. Well, just as the steward
took off the cover, hiss-iss went the wind overhead, and one of those
horrible squalls that come rattling down without a moment's warning in
those parts, struck the ship, and gave her a heel over that sent the
salt-cellars chasing the tumblers like all-possessed; and the great
dumpling gave a heavy lurch to leeward, rolled fairly over on its
beam-ends, and began to course straight down the table quite sedate
and quiet-like. Several dives were made at it by the gentlemen as it
passed, but they all missed; and finally, just as a youngster made a grab
at it with both hands that bid fair to be successful, another howl of the
squall changed its course, and sent it like a cannon-shot straight into the
face of the steward, where it split its sides, and scattered its contents
right and left. I don't know how it ended, for I bolted up the companion,
and saw the squall splitting away to leeward, shrieking as it went, just
as if it were rejoicing at the mischief it had done."
The laugh which greeted the captain's anecdote had scarce subsided
when the tough sides of the good Prince Rupert gave a gentle creak,
and the angle at which the active steward perambulated the cabin
became absurdly acute.
Just then the doctor cast his eye up at the compass suspended above the
captain's head. "Hallo!" said he--But before he could give utterance to
the sentiments to which "hallo" was the preface, the hoarse voice of the
first mate came rolling down the companion-hatch,--"A squall, sir!
scoorin' doon like mad! Wund's veered richt roond to the nor'-east."
The captain and second mate sprang hastily to their feet and rushed
upon deck, where the rest of us joined them as speedily as possible.
On gaining the quarter-deck, the scene that presented itself was truly

grand. Thick black clouds rolled heavily overhead, and cast a gloom