The Congo Rovers | Page 3

lying.
Well as I knew every curve and line of her beautiful hull, my glances
now dwelt upon her with tenfold loving interest. She was a ship-sloop
of 28 guns--long 18-pounders--with a flush deck fore and aft. She was
very long in proportion to her beam; low in the water, and her lines
were as fine as it had been possible to make them. She had a very light,
elegant-looking stern, adorned with a great deal of carved scroll-work
about the cabin windows; and her gracefully-curved cut-water was
surmounted by an exquisitely-carved full-length figure of Peneus'
lovely daughter, with both arms outstretched, as in the act of flight, and
with twigs and leaves of laurel just springing from her dainty
finger-tips. There was a great deal of brass-work about the deck fittings,
which gleamed and flashed brilliantly in the sun; and, the paint being
new and fresh, she looked altogether superlatively neat, in spite of the
fact that the operations of rigging and of shipping stores were both
going on simultaneously.
Having satisfied for the time being my curiosity with regard to the hull
of my future home, I next cast a glance aloft at her spars. She was
rigged only as far as her topmast-heads, her topgallant-masts being then
on deck in process of preparation for sending aloft. When I had last
seen her she was under the masting-shears getting her lower-masts
stepped; and it then struck me that they were fitting her with rather
heavy spars. But now, as I looked aloft, I was fairly startled at the
length and girth of her masts and yards. To my eye--by no means an
unaccustomed one--her spars seemed taunt enough for a ship of nearly
double her size; and the rigging was heavy in the same proportion. I
stood there on the wharf watching with the keenest interest the scene of
bustle and animation on board until the bell rang the hour of noon, and
all hands knocked off work and went to dinner; by which time the three
topgallant-masts were aloft with the rigging all ready for setting up
when the men turned-to again. The addition of these spars to the length
of her already lofty masts gave the Daphne, in my opinion, more than

ever the appearance of being over-sparred; an opinion in which, as it
soon appeared, I was not alone.
Most of the men left the dockyard and went home (as I suppose) to
their dinner; but half a dozen or so of riggers, instead of following the
example of the others, routed out from some obscure spot certain small
bundles tied up in coloured handkerchiefs, and, bringing these on shore,
seated themselves upon some of the boxes and casks with which the
wharf was lumbered, and, opening the bundles, produced therefrom
their dinners, which they proceeded to discuss with quite an enviable
appetite.
For a few minutes the meal proceeded in dead silence; but presently
one of them, glancing aloft at the Daphne's spars, remarked in a tone of
voice which reached me distinctly--I was standing within a few feet of
the party:
"Well, Tom, bo'; what d'ye think of the hooker now?"
The man addressed shook his head disapprovingly. "The more I looks
at her the less I likes her," was his reply.
"I'm precious glad I ain't goin' to sea in her," observed another.
"Same here," said the first speaker. "Why, look at the Siren over there!
She's a 38-gun frigate, and her mainmast is only two feet longer than
the Daphne's--as I happen to know, for I had a hand in the buildin' of
both the spars. The sloop's over-masted, that's what she is."
I turned away and bent my steps homeward. The short snatch of
conversation which I had just heard, confirming as it did my own
convictions, had a curiously depressing effect upon me, which was
increased when, a few minutes afterwards, I caught a glimpse of the
distant buoy which marked the position of the sunken Royal George.
For the moment my enthusiasm was all gone; a foreboding of disaster
took possession of me, and but for very shame I felt more than
half-inclined to tell my father I had altered my mind, and would rather
not go to sea. I had occasion afterwards to devoutly wish I had acted on

this impulse.
When, however, I was awakened next morning by the sun shining
brilliantly in at my bed-room window, my apprehensions had vanished,
my enthusiasm was again at fever-heat, and I panted for the
moment--not to be very long deferred--when I should don my uniform
and strut forth to sport my glories before an admiring world.
Punctual almost to a moment--for once at least in his life--Mr Shears
sent home the uniform whilst we were sitting down to luncheon; and