Most wonderful of all it was to see Jack handling the small boat in
heavy weather. While the wee cockle-shell was rolling and bungling under
our quarter, he would jump on the rail, measure his distance perfectly,
spring on to the boat's gunwale and fend her off before she made the
return roll. A marvellous performance that was, and the marvel only
increased when you saw the young fellow pitching heavy boxes of fish on
to the deck of the great steam cutter.
With a roar, and a savage sweep the big seas came; on their mountainous
sides the shrill eddies of wind played, and the lines of foam twined in
wavering mazes. Hill on hill gathered, and the seas looked like swelling
Downs piled heap on heap, while the sonorous crests roared on hoarsely,
and sometimes the face of the wild water was obscured in the white smoke
plucked off by the gusts.
Jack did not mind weather; the steamer hurled herself up on the bulge of
a sea, and then you could get a glimpse of a tall, lithe figure,
straining in the small boat alongside the rearing iron hulk.
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