|On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabmbxl

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n already the coming of a change in his royal mood. And all
I said was:
"The weather's bound to clear up with the shift of wind."
"Anybody knows that much!" he snapped at me, at the highest pitch
of his voice.
"I mean before dark!" I cried.
This was all the opening he ever got from me. The eagerness with
which he seized upon it gave me the measure of the anxiety he had
been labouring under.
"Very well," he shouted, with an affectation of impatience, as if
giving way to long entreaties. "All right. If we don't get a
shift by then we'll take that foresail off her and put her head
under her wing for the night."
I was struck by the picturesque character of the phrase as applied
to a ship brought-to in order to ride out a gale with wave after
wave passing under her breast. I could see her resting in the
tumult of the elements like a sea-bird sleeping in wild weather
upon the raging waters with its head tucked under its wing. In
imaginative precision, in true feeling, this is one of the most
expressive sentences I have ever heard on human lips. But as to
taking the foresail off that ship before we put her head under her
wing, I had my grave doubts. They were justified. That long
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On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabmdbr