Again, a plate is wrenched, and
some villainously-made rivets jump out of their places like buttons from
an over-tight bodice; in ten minutes the vessel is wallowing, ready for
her last plunge; and very likely the crew have not even the forlorn
chance of taking to the boats. Once more--on a clear night in the
tropics an emigrant ship is stealing softly through the water; the merry
crowd on deck has broken up, the women, poor creatures, are all locked
up in their quarters, and only a few men remain to lounge and gossip.
The great stars hang like lamps from the solemn dome of the sky, and the
ripples are painted with exquisite serpentine streaks; the wind hums
softly from the courses of the sails, and some of the men like to let
the cool breeze blow over them. Everything seems so delightfully placid
and clear that the thought of danger vanishes; no one would imagine that
even a sea-bird could come up unobserved over that starlit expanse of
water. But the ocean is treacherous in light and shade. The loungers
tell their little stories and laugh merrily; the officer of the watch
carelessly stumps forward from abreast of the wheel, looks knowingly
aloft, twirls round like a teetotum, and stumps back again; and the
sweet night passes in splendour, until all save one or two home-sick
lingerers are happy.
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