To accomplish it, therefore, Captain Truck went up a few
ratlines in the fore-rigging, (he was too nice a calculator to offer even
a surface as small as his own body to the wind, in the after shrouds,)
whence he looked out to windward for a lull, and a moment when the ocean
had fewer billows than common of the larger and more dangerous kind. At
the desired instant he signed with his hand, and the wheel was shifted
from hard-down to hard-up.
This is always a breathless moment in a ship, for as none can foresee the
result, it resembles the entrance of a hostile battery. A dozen men may be
swept away in an instant, or the ship herself hove over on her side. John
Effingham and Paul, who of all the passengers were alone on deck,
understood the hazards, and they watched the slightest change with the
interest of men who had so much at stake. At first the movement of the
ship was sluggish, and such as ill-suited the eagerness of the crew. Then
her pitching ceased, and she settled into the enormous trough bodily, or
the whole fabric sunk, as it were, never to rise again. So low did she
fall, that the foresail gave a tremendous flap; one that shook the hull
and spars from stem to stern. As she rose on the next surge, happily its
foaming crest slid beneath her, and the tall masts rolled heavily to
windward.
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