The Chief Mate's Yarns

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: THE WRECK OF THE RATH- BONE EIGHT bells, sir, came the voice from without, following the rap, rap upon the door of my room. I had just five minutes to dress myself and get out, and I rolled over, listening to the sounds on deck. As I had only taken off my sea boots, I was in no hurry to turn to. My...
More Description

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: THE WRECK OF THE RATH- BONE EIGHT bells, sir, came the voice from without, following the rap, rap upon the door of my room. I had just five minutes to dress myself and get out, and I rolled over, listening to the sounds on deck. As I had only taken off my sea boots, I was in no hurry to turn to. My sou'wester hung upon a peg, but my oilskin jacket was still buttoned up close about my neck, where it had, been during my sleep; and the oilskin trousers scraped noisily as I slid my legs to the edge of the bunk. i I had slept three hours and forty minutes, and must go out and relieve Slade, the 'second mate, who had, in turn, relieved me at the end of the mid- watch. It was now just five minutes of four in the morning, a cold, snowy nor'easter blowing, and the brig running wildly into the thick of it. We had cleared from New York for Rio, and were trying to run out into the warm Gulf Stream before the gale overblew us and forced us to heave to, to ride it down. January at sea on the coast was hard, indeed. I swore at the hard luck, for my sleep had seemed just an instant, just a second's unconsciousness, and I was stiff and soaked with sea water; so cold that I had to keep on my oilskins to sleep at all. I had finally steamed my body, incased as it was, into some sort of warmth, and the first movement sent the chills running down my spine. I threw off my blankets and stood shivering, trying to jam my feet into the wet boots as the bells struck off, and I was due on deck. Slade stood with his shoulders hunched to his ears at the break of the poop, holding to the rail to steady himself as the brig plunged and tore along under a reefed fore-topsail and close-reefed spanker, with the wind abaft the beam. The gray light of the winter morning had not come yet, and the snow...