Chapter 74

THE MAIN-TOP AT NIGHT.

The whole of our run from Rio to the Line was one delightful yachting,
so far as fine weather and the ship's sailing were concerned. It was
especially pleasant when our quarter-watch lounged in the main-top,
diverting ourselves in many agreeable ways. Removed from the immediate
presence of the officers, we there harmlessly enjoyed ourselves, more
than in any other part of the ship. By day, many of us were very
industrious, making hats or mending our clothes. But by night we
became more romantically inclined.

Often Jack Chase, an enthusiastic admirer of sea-scenery, would
direct our attention to the moonlight on the waves, by fine
snatches from his catalogue of poets. I shall never forget the
lyric air with which, one morning, at dawn of day, when all the
East was flushed with red and gold, he stood leaning against the
top-mast shrouds, and stretching his bold hand over the sea,
exclaimed, "Here comes Aurora: top-mates, see!" And, in a liquid,
long-lingering tone, he recited the lines,

"With gentle hand, as seeming oft to pause,
The purple curtains of the morn she draws."

"Commodore Camoens, White-Jacket.--But bear a hand there; we must
rig out that stun'-sail boom--the wind is shifting."

From our lofty perch, of a moonlight night, the frigate itself
was a glorious sight. She was going large before the wind, her
stun'-sails set on both sides, so that the canvas on the main-
mast and fore-mast presented the appearance of majestic, tapering
pyramids, more than a hundred feet broad at the base, and
terminating in the clouds with the light copestone of the royals.
That immense area of snow-white canvas sliding along the sea was
indeed a magnificent spectacle. The three shrouded masts looked
like the apparitions of three gigantic Turkish Emirs striding
over the ocean.

Nor, at times, was the sound of music wanting, to augment the
poetry of the scene. The whole band would be assembled on the
poop, regaling the officers, and incidentally ourselves, with
their fine old airs. To these, some of us would occasionally
dance in the _top_, which was almost as large as an ordinary
sized parlour. When the instrumental melody of the band was not
to be had, our nightingales mustered their voices, and gave us a
song.

Upon these occasions Jack Chase was often called out, and regaled
us, in his own free and noble style, with the "_Spanish Ladies_"--
a favourite thing with British man-of-war's-men--and many other
salt-sea ballads and ditties, including,

"Sir Patrick Spens was the best sailor
That ever sailed the sea."

also,

"And three times around spun our gallant ship;