As I crawled up the lee steps of the poop of The Gentle Hand, I began to believe it was blowing. I could not possibly stand before that blast. Holding to the poop-rail, I worked aft and relieved Yankee Dan, who had helped the man already there by taking the spokes to windward.

All about the barque were the lowering banks of scud, darkening the ocean now almost to night, and flying with the rapidity of the wind. Above was the deep gray of the heavy pall of vapour.

I glanced into the binnacle and noticed that the wind had already shifted, although it had been blowing less than an hour. It had become more and more squally, and the blasts roared down upon the barque with incredible force. The sea was ugly, but instead of the great, rolling sea of the Cape, it was a short, quick mass of water that flung itself with appalling force. High as she was, The Gentle Hand took them now and again over the topgallant-rail, and flooded her main-deck waist-deep. Soon her lee bulwarks tore away, letting the flood have full sway across and overboard. This eased her a trifle, and we strove to nurse her closer to the wind, although, without canvas, the wheel would have been as well lashed hard down.

For three hours more she headed up beautifully, although sometimes the blasts would take her to leeward and whirl her head up into the sea. Then another would strike her full, and off she would swing almost into the trough, while Hawkson and the rest would struggle to get a cloth against the weather mizzen ratlines.

Suddenly, after one wild, snoring rush of warm wind, it fell dead calm. The sea was leaping wildly, bursting over our bow one moment, and then the next piling in amidships with a crash that tested the strength of the old hull. She would seem to settle under the load, and once there was nothing visible forward of the break of the poop save the end of her t’gallant forecastle. The men had to lay aft and keep alive.

While the calm moments lasted, the air was oppressively warm, and I noticed Hicks come from behind the shelter of the spanker-boom and coolly light his pipe, although the barque was rolling and plunging so heavily it was hard to see how he kept his feet without holding on. He made his way aft just as Mr. Curtis emerged from the companion, followed by Miss Allen.

The barque was plunging wildly, and I had all I could do to hold the wheel-spokes. Suddenly I heard a cry from forward. Captain Howard stood clear of the mizzen for a moment and pointed aft. Over the starboard quarter a huge sea rose like a wall, then topped into a snoring comber, and flung with the rush of an avalanche over the poop. The dull, thunderous crash drowned all sound, and the same instant I felt myself being torn from the wheel by the flood. Then I went under, still holding on with all my strength to the spokes, but feeling them dragged from my hands by the prodigious power washing me away.

When I came to my senses, I was lying against the rise of the poop, where I had brought up doubled over, my body on top and my legs hanging in the swirl that rolled over to leeward. There was no one at the wheel. The Norwegian had gone overboard, and, as he had probably struck heavily against the spokes, he was doubtless killed outright.

I crawled back, gasping and driving the brine from my face. Then I remembered Miss Allen and her lover, Mr. Curtis, and looked for them.

In the boiling foam of the side-wash a few fathoms from the side, the girl’s head, with her hair floating in tangles, showed above the white. She was apparently swimming, though feebly, for she must have been hurled far below in the cataract that poured to leeward. Near her was Mr. Curtis, his eyes staring at the ship and his face expressing surprise and anxiety. He struck out for the barque, and did not help the girl near him, or, in fact, give her any attention until he had grasped the lee mizzen channels as the vessel rolled down. Here he drew himself up, and started to coil a line trailing overboard to throw to her. I started to the side, letting go the wheel, but before I reached the rail, I saw a form plunge from the mizzen sheer-pole, and in an instant Hicks rose to the surface almost alongside the young lady. It was boldly done, and I caught the expression in his eyes as he seized her by the shoulder and turned toward the ship.

Hawkson was bawling out something, and I turned in time to feel the first puff of a squall that came snoring down upon us with a rush that made every line sing to the strain. In an instant the barque was laying over to it, and as it struck her abaft the beam she started ahead.

Hicks was now alongside, and Curtis, aided by Yankee Dan, was helping the young girl on deck. It was a remarkable occurrence, happening as it did in the centre of that hurricane, when the barque was becalmed and without any headway. Otherwise it would have been a certain death for any one going over the side. In less than five minutes the gale was blowing as hard as ever from an almost opposite point of the compass, the squalls coming with appalling force, sending us a good fifteen knots an hour, with nothing but the bare yards aloft to receive the pressure.

Two men came aft to relieve the wheel, which I had rolled up with Mr. Gull’s help, and I had a few minutes’ breathing space as we tore along, the men forward trimming in the braces and squaring the yards for a run before it.

Hicks stood upon the poop near the mizzen, where he had climbed up, and he gazed after Curtis, who, with Yankee Dan, half-dragged and half-carried Miss Allen below. There was a strange look in his eyes, and I saw him cursing in a sinister manner, though what he said was lost in the uproar. Then he joined the captain at the break of the poop, where the old man had remained, having escaped the flood by springing with the rest upon the spanker-boom.

Sir John Hicks was a thorough rascal, according to report, but somehow he showed up very well with Mr. Curtis, who had been a well-known churchman and piously inclined even to the time he had bought his interest in The Gentle Hand.

As for the grim old villain in command, he made no comment, but stood watching his ship without a trace of anxiety upon his mask-like countenance. Even as I watched him, he was calculating the time to swing her up on the port tack to keep afloat in that cross-sea, before which no vessel could run very long.

I could hardly help thinking then that so much nervous strength and control must have a limit sometime. The old fellow had been through a good deal, and certainly must have used up much of his giant energy in earlier trials. I wondered vaguely for a few moments when the time would come when his stoical indifference and cruelty would be used up and he become a debtor to nature. How would the old man die? Would he be inscrutable and implacable to the last? It would be a matter of physical force with him, and he appeared pretty tough yet, ready for many a rough fracas, and afraid of nothing.

Yet I doubted whether his courage was any finer than some others who were less reckless and held responsibility as something of value. He finally gave the order to Hawkson, and the deep voice of the mate sounded above the booming, sonorous roar overhead. A heavy tarpaulin was lashed in the mizzen-rigging on the outside, so that the shrouds might make a solid background to hold it against the blast. It was an old hatch-cover, but of heavier cloth than our topsail.

The wheel was rolled hard down just as a heavy squall showed signs of slacking, and a comparative smooth space showed to windward. The old barque came quickly into the trough, and, as she did so, the full force of the hurricane could be felt. Over and over she went until her lee rail disappeared beneath the foam, while above her towered a sea that bade fair to drive her under as it fell aboard. She lay perfectly on end for an instant, the deck being absolutely perpendicular, and her yard-arm beneath the swirl to leeward, and the weight of that rolling hill broke clear across, the larger part of it landing in the sea to starboard.

The shock was terrific. Both fore and main topmasts went out of her and trailed alongside in the smother. There was no sound save the thundering crash of the water, but as soon as the men who had saved themselves could move from their places, we tried to save the ship. Hawkson, Gull, Henry, Richards, Jones, Martin, and the rest made their way forward by holding to the pin-rail, and we cut to clear away the foretopmast alongside. All the time the barque was on end, her hatches under water, and the wild, booming snore of the hurricane roaring over her, sending cataracts of water over her t’gallant-rail. By desperate work we led the wreckage forward, and towed it by a heavy line from the port cat-head. This finally had the effect, together with the tarpaulin aft, of pulling her head into the sea, and after a quarter of an hour, every minute of which I expected to see her go under, she began to right herself.

Too exhausted to speak and half-drowned by the seas, we hung on under the shelter of the forecastle until she once more rode safely into it. I looked into the streaming faces of the men, and wondered how many had gone to leeward that day, and then it seemed to me that slaving for wealth might not be any better than I had originally held it to be. Aloft in that gray pall the scud were whirling past, and I found myself thinking of Tim and the cry of the South Sea. A sailor is apt to get superstitious even without reason, and it struck me that there would be little luck aboard the old pirate on this cruise.

When we had a chance to leave, we found that one dago and the little Dane had disappeared from among us, and, as the gale wore down toward evening, there was a sorry picture of a black barque riding the quick sea of the western ocean, her rigging hanging and trailing to leeward from the stumps of her topmasts, and a half-drowned crew holding on to anything they could.

Before morning the hurricane had passed, and we were again heading off across the ocean, with a badly wrecked ship and an ugly, demoralized set of men, cursing their luck, the ship, and especially her officers in a manner that spoke of trouble ahead.