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As I crawled out to starboard with a couple of hands, Jackson of Trunnell's watch and Davis of mine, the murmur to the southward swelled rapidly in volume. I glanced into the blackness, and as I did so there was a blinding flash. My eyes seemed to be burned out with the brightness, and a crashing roar thundered in my ears. Instantly afterward I heard Trunnell's voice: "Hard up the wheel.
My duties and rating being those of a first mate, I had no longer the pleasure of being intimate with Chips and the rest forward. The carpenter, steward, and "doctor" had the quartermaster, Tom, from Trunnell's watch for a second mate and companion at the second table. Tom was a Yankee and a good companion, so the change was satisfactory all around.
He, however, checked up Trunnell's sights every day and commented upon their accuracy with much freedom, finding fault often, and cautioning him to be more careful in the future. This somewhat perplexed the mate, as he always made his reckoning by rule of thumb, and could no more change his method than work out a problem in trigonometry. The third mate, on the other hand, was quite shy.
If the skipper ain't been acrost before, he'll be liable to catch the fun as well as the rest, but he don't know nothin' about sech things." I was a little suspicious at Trunnell's determination to stay aboard, especially when I found out he knew the captain of the whaler very well. However, I had the small boat hoisted out and made ready for the passengers.
When I saw him, I no longer wondered why I had failed to overcome him in our first set-to. The fellow was a perfect mass of muscle, and while I gazed at his strong frame I wondered at the power in Trunnell's arms, which held us so tight and saved me that first day on board. He came out on the frame, and I made way for Journegan to take the line. He took a turn, and over he went without delay.
The third mate had never given an order since he had come aboard, and I noticed Trunnell's sly wink as he glanced in the direction of the mizzen. "Mr. Rolling," said he, "wimmen have been my ruin. Yes, sir, wimmen have been my ruin, an' I'm that scared o' them I can raise them afore their topmast is above the horizon. Sink me, if that ain't one."
All the yards, however, were trimmed nicely, showing Trunnell's master hand, and on the mainmast, bellying and straining with the pressure, was a new storm spencer, set snug and true, holding the plunging vessel up to the great rolling sea that came like a living hill from the southwest. Forward, a bit of a staysail was set as taut as a drumhead, looking no bigger than a good-sized handkerchief.
It was Trunnell's dog-watch that evening, and by the time the bells struck the vessel was running along to the westward under royals, with the southerly breeze freshening on her beam. She was a handsome ship.
Sober appreciation of the affair took the place of Trunnell's impetuosity. "We'll niver see him agin," said Chips, hauling heavily on the boat tackles. "There's no use, Trunnell," I cried; "we can't catch that brig in a whale-boat." He was already hesitating, and stood scratching his shaggy beard. "Avast heavin' on that tackle," he bawled. Then he turned to me.
The men were mustered aft, and Trunnell announced that he was the man they wanted to stand from under. They remained silent until Johnson suggested that three cheers be given for the new skipper. Then all hands bawled themselves hoarse. That was all. I was now the first mate and took my meals at the cabin table, where Jennie and her mother had been wondering at Trunnell's dexterity with his knife.
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