lling
herself together, as it were, for the final plunge. A mass of cordage
littered the deck; the head of the mast showed in splinters, whilst the
spar itself looked withered, naked, blasted, as though struck by
lightning. The decks were full of water, which was flashed above the
rail, where it was instantly swept away by the gale in a smoke of
crystals. The black gear wriggled and rose to the wash of the water
over the planks like a huddle of eels. A large space of the bulwarks
on the port side abreast of the mast was smashed level with the deck.
The grey sky seemed to hover within musket shot of us, and it went down
the sea in a slate-coloured weeping body of thickness to within a
couple of hundred fathoms, and the dark green surges, as they came
rolling in foam from out of the windward wall of blankness, looked
enormous.

In sober truth a very great sea was running indeed; the oldest sailor
then afloat must have thought so. The Channel was widening into the
ocean, with depth enough for seas of oceanic volume, and it was still,
as it had been for some hours, blowing a whole gale of wind. I had
often read of what is called a storm at sea, but had never encountered
one, and now I was viewing the real thing from the deck of a little
vessel that was practically dismasted in the heart of a thickness that
shrouded us from all observation, whilst every minute we were being
settled farther and farther away from the English coast towards the
great Atlantic by the hurling scend of the surges, and by the driving
fury of the blast.

Caudel on seeing me came scrambling to the companion. The salt of the
flying wet had dried in the hollows of his eyes and lay in a sort of
white powder there, insomuch that he was scarcely recognisable. It was
impossible to hear him amidst that roaring commotion, and I descended
the ladder by a step or two to enable him to put his head into the
hatch. He tried to look cheerful, but there was a curl in the set of
his mouth that neutralised the efforts of his eye.

"Ye see how it is, Mr. Barclay?"

"Nothing could be worse."

"Dorn't say that, sir, dorn't say that. The yacht lives, and is making
brave weather o't."

"She cannot go on living."

"She'll outlast this weather, sir, I'll lay."

"What are you doing?"

He entered into a nautical explanation, the terms of which I forget.
It was of the first consequence, however, that the mast should be
preserved, and this the men were att