against him, was at last
forced to lay her to. In a piping squall of snow and sleet we set to
haul up the foresail. Even the nigger could not find heart to rouse
more than a mournful _i--o--ho_ at the buntlines, as we slowly dragged
the heavy slatting canvas to the yard. Intent on the work, we had no
eye to the weather, and only the Captain and steersman saw the sweep of
a monster sea that bore down on us, white-crested and curling.

"Stand by," yelled the Old Man. "Hang on, for your lives, men!
Christ! Hold hard there!"

Underfoot we felt the ship falter in swing--an ominous check in her
lift to the heaving sea. Then out of the blackness to windward a swift
towering crest reared up--a high wall of moving water, winged with
leagues of tempest at its back. It struck us sheer on the broadside,
and shattered its bulk aboard in a whelming torrent, brimming the decks
with a weight that left no life in the labouring barque. We were swept
to leeward at the first shock, a huddled mass of writhing figures, and
dashed to and fro with the sweep of the sea. Gradually, as the water
cleared, we came by foothold again, sorely bruised and battered.

"Haul away again, men!" The Mate, clearing the blood of a head wound
from his eyes, was again at the foretack giving slack. "Hell! what ye
standing at? Haul away, blast ye! Haul an' rouse her up!"

Half-handed, we strained to raise the thundering canvas; the rest, with
the Second Mate, were labouring at the spare spar, under which Houston,
an ordinary seaman, lay jammed with his thigh broken. Pinching with
handspikes, they got him out and carried aft, and joined us at the
gear; and at last the sail was hauled up. "_Aloft and furl_," was the
next order, and we sprang to the rigging in time to escape a second
thundering 'grey-beard.'

It was dark, with a black squall making up to windward, as we laid out
on the yard and grappled with the wet and heavy canvas. Once we had
the sail up, but the wind that burst on us tore it from our stiffened
fingers. Near me a grown man cried with the pain of a finger-nail torn
from the flesh. We rested a moment before bending anew to the task.

"Handy now, laads!" the Second Mate at the bunt was roaring down the
wind. "Stick t it, ma herts, ... hold aal, now! ... Damn ye, hold it,
you. Ye haandless sojer! ... Up, m' sons; up an' hold aal."

Cursing the stubborn folds, swaying dizzily on the slippery footropes,
shouting for hold and