"Oh, I am," Jeff agreed with a twinkle.
But Captain Green had reckoned without the weather. The _Nancy
Hanks_ drifted into three days of calm and sultry heat. At the
end of the third day she began to rock gently beneath a murky sky.
"Dirty weather," predicted the mate, the same who had assisted at
the shanghaing. "When you see a satin sea turn indigo and that
peculiar shade in the sky you want to look out for squalls," he
explained to Jeff.
It came on them in a rush. The sun went out of a black sky like a
blown candle and the sea began to whip itself to a froth. The wind
quickened, boomed to a roar, and sent the schooner heeling to a
squall across the leaden waters. The open sea closed in on them.
Before they could get in sail and make secure the sheets ripped
with a scream, braces parted and the topmasts snapped off. The
_Nancy_ went pitching forward into the yawning deeps with drunken
plunges from which it seemed she would never emerge. Great combing
seas toppled down and pounded the decks, while the sailors clung
to stays or whatever would give them a hold.
The squall lasted scarce an hour, but it left the schooner
dismantled. Her sheets were in ribbons, her topmasts and bowsprit
gone.
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