Very regretfully I notice how the recital² of Frank’s career has drawn³ me on to longer and longer chapters, until I hardly know where to draw the line. But then at sea, you know, as a rule day succeeds day and work flows on so steadily⁴ that, except when some sudden catastrophe⁵ occurs, the necessity for a break in the narrative⁶ is not evident. Such a necessity is now at hand. I have said that the elements seemed to favour the departure of the Sealark, and the elevation⁷ of Hansen to the position of bo’sun, or foreman of the crew, made Frank feel that things were going exceptionally well with him, and that this voyage was indeed a great improvement upon the last one.

 

And then a change took place, a change in the weather that made, as the Scriptures⁸ say, “all faces gather blackness.” The wind backed round into the north-west, with an awfully⁹ hideous¹⁰ sea which made the deeply-laden¹¹ Sealark strain and labour as if she would loosen her plates. (I hope I have made it clear that she was an iron ship, but I don’t think I have.) Captain Jenkins, full of care for his charge, saw to it that all the sails were well secured, all the mast supports well looked to by means of preventer backstays, and, in short, everything[182] done that a good sailor could think of for the safety of the vessel¹² and all on board under any circumstances of weather. For he knew how low the glass had fallen, and he felt the need of preparing for the worst possible eventuality.

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