Aloft

by HILL ADAMS

IN a few days I go to hospital, and I do not know which way the cat will jump. But no matter. It has been a good summer with pleasant swims, and one bright afternoon I dived ten times from a springboard. How is that for a little fellow of seventy-three and a half? Never did I more enjoy myself. And, probably — or, at least, possibly — I shall be sending you a similar report , or one not greatly different, in five or even in ten years.

While reading “ My Island Home” in the Atlantic, I came on the words “There is no such thing as a still night except, perhaps, in the Far North in the dead of winter,”and I was taken back to a time when my ship lay becalmed in the North Pacific.

During the afternoon watch the last of the breeze had died. In the second dogwatch, from six to eight, she lay utterly motionless on an utterly motionless sea under a cloud canopy in which was no motion whatever. The cloud hung high above her lofty trucks, sullen, gray, as was the sea beneath. To me, a lad not yet twenty, there was something awe-inspiring and dreadful in that somber silence: no creak of block, lap of water, rustle of canvas, or slow kick of wheel. At eight bells, eight o’clock, I went, below. When I returned to duty at eight bells, midnight , darkness was absolute.

For a few minutes there was slow patter of bare feet, murmur of voices, low laughter, or quick oath when bare toes struck on iron ringbolt, on the deck, while all hands walked to the quarter-deck to answer the muster roll. It was the same when they returned forward: the watch on deck to keep handy, the others to roll into their bunks.

A few minutes after the changing of the watches the mate’s whistle shrilled and the order came to clew up the royals. Then was quick squeal of halliard blocks, rustle of canvas high in darkness, thud of ropes, as, at the quiet yo-ho-hoing of men and boys hauling on clew and on bunt lines, ihree royals slid down to rest on their motionless mast beads. On such a night, sailors, in tune with the rhythm of their watery world, refrained from the defiant shouting they delighted in when savage wind screamed and mad sea roared.

With the royals clewed up, with jib topsail, jigger topmast staysail, and gaff topsail hauled down, the mate said in a quiet voice audible the deck’s length, “Aloft and make them fast. One hand stay on deck and coil the ropes up.”

Why, I wonder, was a sailor, with two hands, always referred to as “a hand"?

With eight able seamen and four apprentices in the watch, one of them at the wheel, one on lookout, and one to coil the ropes, nine were left to furl the sails. Two TO each royal, one to each of the three fore-and-aft sails. But when, in utter blackness, I climbed into the fore rigging to go up and furl the fore royal, no one followed, Hitherto I always had been very nervous when going high aloft, especially alone. Often I had suffered terror. Now, in inky darkness, I knew no fear, hut felt completely at home. Barefoot, bareheaded, naked to the waist, with dungaree trousers rolled to the knee, I ascended the rigging without a qualm. To climb over the futlock shrouds, where one swung outward with the back down, ever had been a bitter trial. Now L swarmed up, and over them, without an instant’s hesitation; and on, beyond the huge invisible foresail, up into the more slender topmast, rigging. Past the night-hidden lower and upper topsail I went, and came gaily to the topgallant crosstrees. Swinging outward again, back down, I climbed over them; fearless and monkey-nimble; hurried past 1 he great invisible topgallantsail and came to the royal yard. Now and again there came to me low voices of the two on the mainmast, or a scarce audible rustle of the sail they gathered up, a laugh, a curse, or a girl’s name.

Soon all others had finished their job and gone down to the deck. With the 40 feet long by 16 feet deep royal to furl singlehanded, I alone was left aloft. First I picked up and secured the bunt, the center of the sail; next walked out along the swaying slender footrope to starboard and furled that side; then back to the mast and out along the footrope to port to finish my job.

With the sail furled, instead of going down to ihe deck, I stepped to, and stood upon the royal yard with one hand resting lightly on the mast. To have done thus boldly at any previous time would have been, by day or night, impossible. Had 1 tried to, I must have fallen and been smashed on the deck 170 feet below; or have gone overboard to quick death.

Now, with no human voice, cry of bird, rattle of block, rustic of canvas, I was completely at home in sheer silence and utter stillness. The night was mine; I was the night’s. Though it never had occurred to me that this could be, I was not surprised and, drinking the midnight peace, was unspeakably happy. It was the fulfillment of a young lad’s yearning for beauty and for peace.

Suddenly there appeared at the ship’s sharp bow, about 180 feet below me, a slim wedge of phosphorescent light. So slight as to be imperceptible to me, her gentle lilting and dipping, caused by slow undulations wakened by storm far away, had brought that pale green sea fire to being.

At the moment I became aware of it the mate’s whistle shrilled, faint from the deck far below, followed at once by his clear though distant order: “All hands on deck, shorten sail!”

A moan of wind far off a ltd fast approaching. On deck immediate tumult. Ropes skirling through blocks. Spars groaning. Halliards rattling, The crew s deep-throated yo-ho-hoing loudly defiant. Presently a sudden slap of spray and the skipper’s stentorian command, “Look alive on deck there!”

I seized a backstay, wound my legs round it, slid swiftly down to the canting deck, and joined my jocose and rowdy shipmates, none of whom ever knew of my happy masthead dream.

Shall not my dream be so when my day is done and I am alone in the dark again?