On gaining the deck I found a huge sea had fallen into the waist, filling the main-deck knee-deep with water. The weather was looking wild enough to windward.

The ship was plunging into a mountainous sea, with nothing on her except the three narrow bands of lower topsails and forestaysail. She was heeling over to the gale until her lee deckstrake was level with the sea, while the deep roar of the wind, as it tore its way through the rigging, told plainly of the pressure on the canvas.

The flying, swirling drift struck the face so hard that it was impossible to look but for a moment to windward. I noticed Brown had turned out and was sheltering himself as best he might while he clung to the lee mizzen rigging. Captain Crojack was on deck, and O’Toole had gone forward to call all hands. We had been hove to all the morning on the port track, but, as the barometer fell steadily, the skipper saw, as soon as the wind began to chop around to the eastward, that he was nearing the centre of the cyclone. All hands were then called to wear ship.

As the men took their places at the braces, the skipper gave the order to put the wheel hard up, when the forestaysail, which had held during all the morning, parted from the stay with a loud crack and was gone.

The heavy ship wore slowly under the three lower topsails, but finally came up on the starboard tack, heading almost due north.

When she first headed the sea, a big fellow caught her a little forward of the starboard beam and bore her down until her lee rail was well under water. Then, with a sudden lurch, she righted, sending the flood across the deck and filling the forward cabin and alleyways. The main-deck was full of water, and under the extra load the clipper settled almost to her deck amidships.

The ports in the bulwarks were nailed up and the water would not get clear fast enough through the scuppers. The men were called aft on the poop, while O’Toole and myself, armed with handspikes, started to break out the bulwarks in the waist.

In a few moments we were joined by the third mate, who stood knee-deep in the foam and strove lustily to force the heavy planks from the vessel’s timbers.

While we worked I felt the ship take a heave to windward, and at the same instant heard Crojack’s voice bawling out something.

I turned my head just in time to see a blue hill of water rise high above the weather-rail.

Then, with a tremendous, smothering crash, it fell on deck and rolled over us.

I had just time to grasp the main brace when my feet were swept from under me and I felt myself beneath the surface.

Holding on with both hands, I tried to get my head out of the water, and in a moment the ship righted, jerking me back on to the main-deck.

As soon as I could see anything, I looked for O’Toole and Brown. And then, yes, and then I must confess how weak a strong man is, I looked aft to see if a bright face was enjoying the excitement.

There, in the lee scuppers, lay the red-headed giant holding fast to the topsail brace with one hand while the other was fast in the collar of the third mate’s jacket.

O’Toole was up to his armpits in the swirl, but his freckled face and red hair shone like a beacon in the surrounding waste of whiteness, while his deep voice, half-choked with salt water, spluttered out a string of oaths as he dragged Brown to his feet.

“Ef it’s swimmin’ ye’re afther, ’twill be hard to keep up with us,” he roared into the third mate’s ear, “an’ it’s a divin’-bell ye’ll be wantin’ if yer goin’ to help us here, so git on to th’ poop before another sea washes ye clane out av yer skin.” So saying, he released the young man and, grabbing his handspike that floated near, began to start the planking with powerful blows.

The third mate seemed reluctant to leave, but, as his handspike had gone overboard on that sea, there was nothing else for him to do. He climbed on to the poop and held on to the lee rigging. In a few moments we stove out the ports, and the vessel began to relieve herself of the load on her main-deck. Then we climbed back on the poop and held on, watching the lower topsails as they tugged and strained at the clews.

Captain Crojack stood near the wheel, and his seamed and lined face wore an anxious look as he strove to pierce the cloud of flying drift and spray which bore down on the staggering ship.

I remember watching him and the pretty face in the companionway alternately. There was much of the sturdy sailor’s nature expressed in the soft face of the young girl. And I have always found much to admire in strong, sturdy characters.

Even, as is often the case, if the strong personality has a coarse fibre, and lacks the soft and delicate traceries of sentiment of the weaker, I have always felt that more reliance could be placed in the former than in the latter, and under any circumstances.

Old Crojack’s strong, lined face and puckered eyes, as he stood there trying to look to windward, was a study of resolute responsibility.

All of a sudden there was a loud crack, and the maintopsail seemed to melt away from the yard-arm as if it were a sheet of ice under a tropic sun. Then, almost instantly, the wind began to fall until in a few moments a candle would have burned on deck.

“Clew down the mizzentopsail,” roared the skipper, as he sprang for the halyards, and in a moment the watch were all struggling with that bit of canvas and had it rolled snug on the yard in less time than it takes to tell it.

“Keep her northeast b’ north,” he sung out again, as the ship, becoming unmanageable, began switching and plunging into a high lumpy sea that seemed to come from all points of the compass at once. All around us hung low, thick banks of heavy, dark, and oily-looking clouds, their lower edges almost resting on the heaving ocean. The air had become as warm as if we had suddenly entered the tropics. In the dull, uncertain light I thought I noticed something white on the water to the southward. Then, above the thundering of the seas that fell on the ship’s deck, I could hear a deepening murmur. It swelled into a deep roaring as the hurricane, driving the tops of the seas before it until they were as level as a plain of driven snow, bore down on our starboard quarter.

With a rush that made every shroud and backstay sing to the strain, until the booming roar was deafening, it struck us and away we went before it.

The foretopsail held long enough to get the ship’s head off before it; then it parted from the clews and jackstay and disappeared like a giant bird into the drift ahead.

It blew so hard that it almost lifted me from my feet as I crossed the deck.

Captain Crojack fastened the cabin door and pulled the slide to the companionway, for he knew that, running deep as we were, it would only be a few minutes before the sea would begin to board us.

“By th’ sowl av Saint Patrick, we struck th’ cintre av it this time, sure,” said O’Toole, who, with Brown and a couple of hands in my watch, sheltered themselves behind the mizzen.

“It puts me in moind av th’ time we had on th’ Eagle frigate whin we struck into th’ cintre av one o’ thim circular storms ter th’ north’ard av th’ Bermudas. There was a parrot on board owned by an Irishman in my mess, and ivery time a sea would strike an’ board us th’ baste would laugh outrajis. Th’ fellow was so scared av th’ oncanny cratur that he thought it was Davy Jones himself. So he took him ter th’ spar-deck in his cage an’ opens th’ door, an’ says, ‘Scat, ye baste!’ an’ th’ burd was gone t’ leeward like a streak av green lightnin’.

“‘Now laugh, ye divil incarnate!’ he yelled, ’an’ thank yer stars me conscience previnted me from wringing yer bloody neck!’

“Do yer know, ’pon me whurd, for a fact, the wind fell so that by dark we were ready t’ loose th’ maint’gallantsail. The fellow that owned th’ burd was th’ first on th’ yard, an’ th’ first thing he saw there, lookin’ down at him from th’ r’yal truck, was a big pair o’ green eyes. Th’ next minute a wild, oncanny laugh broke out from th’ heavens above to th’ earth beneath.

“He gave one yell an’ let go, an’, if it hadn’t been for th’ belly av th’ mainsail being tight as a board, he would have broke his neck. As it was, he slid right down on to th’ main-deck an’ landed on his feet, but he wouldn’t go aloft again till they’d caught th’ burd.

“Now, both ye, Mr. Brown and yersilf, are friendly with th’ ladies, an’ I’m thinking if ye could loose that cockatoo av th’ older one’s, there would be nothin’ but good come from it. Hold hard!” and suiting the action to the yell, he sprang on to the saddle of the spanker boom. The rest of us grabbed whatever came within reach, for we saw a great hill of water high above the stern, and we knew its combing crest would go over us.

The men at the wheel jumped around forward of it, as, with a thundering crash, the mass of green water rolled over the poop.

It tore the bitt-coverings to match-wood and crashed through the cabin door. A glimpse of struggling arms in the smother of foam that went over the port side told the fate of one of the quartermasters.

“All hands save ship!” roared old Crojack, as soon as the flood had passed over. “Good God! Mr. Gore, she won’t stand another like that; she’s half up in the wind now,” and we sprang to the wheel to keep her from broaching to.

“Lay aft, bullies!” I bawled, and, followed by O’Toole, Brown, and a dozen sailors, I made my way as rapidly as possible to the lazarette to procure a tarpaulin.

We carried it into the mizzen rigging and, by dint of hard work, managed to lash it up and down the ratlines just as another sea boarded us and half-filled the cabin.

Shrieks issued from below, but there was no time to see what was the matter. Captain Crojack was almost drowned at the wheel, but he and the sailor left there held on. The man was the heavy-set German whose shoulders had felt the weight of my rope’s-end. When I saw how bravely the fellow held the racing ship up to her course, I was almost sorry that I had been so hasty.

As soon as we had the tarpaulin in the mizzen, and the bare yards braced for the starboard tack, the wheel was put down and the clipper rolled up in the trough of the sea. She managed to head up, however, although she took a comber into her waist that stove two men, who were at the braces, so heavily against the t’gallant-rail, that one died by the time he was taken forward, and the other had two ribs broken and was crippled for weeks afterward.

Luckily the wind began to haul to the westward, and we found that on the starboard tack, with nothing but the tarpaulin in the mizzen, she would head up within four points of the sea, while the hauling wind drove the spray over her in clouds but two points forward of the weather beam.

Dripping wet and half-blinded with salt, I made my way aft to where the skipper stood at the wheel. The cries continued to come up the smashed companionway, and, as I drew near, Crojack motioned for me to go below and see what was wrong.

I scrambled down into the cabin, and almost immediately found Mrs. Waters in my arms.

She was hysterical with fright, and begged me never to leave her.

She was a plump, good-looking woman, and I own that I felt a little flattered at this show of absolute confidence. I took her to the weather side of the cabin, clear of the water, and strove to quiet her, and in a short time she was silent. I then thought that it was about time that I should go on deck and attend to my duties.

As soon as I started to leave, she became nervous again and grasped me tightly.

“You’ll never leave me here alone, Mr. Gore; you’ll never leave me?” she cried.

“No,” said I, mechanically, “I’ll never leave you,” and the words were no sooner out of my mouth than I was aware of a stateroom door being open and a half-smiling, half-frightened face regarding us intently.

“Mr. Gore!” bawled Captain Crojack down the companionway.

“Ay, ay, sir!” I answered, and, freeing myself, I made my way on deck.

The skipper eyed me curiously.

“Better see about getting a new maintopsail ready for bending, and get the foresail close reefed,” he said, with some energy. And I immediately went forward.

During the dog-watch that evening we bent new fore and main lower topsails and were soon riding comfortably enough. After supper we kept away and drove off to the eastward, with the wind astern and enough canvas on the ship to keep her clear of the running hill behind us.

The carpenter was sent aft to mend the cabin door and clear away the wreck in the after cabin.

So much water had poured down the companionway that many movable things were washed clear into the forward cabin. Among these I noticed a book which I thought I recognized, by its peculiar cover, as my private log-book. I remember wondering how it could have floated out of my room, but I picked it up and laid it carefully in my bunk to dry.

When I took my watch below, I opened it to see if it was damaged by the water, and was astonished to find neat entries made in it by an unmistakably feminine hand.

On the first page were a few terse lines, thus: “April 16th, left New York. Am a little seasick. Am much amused at the antics of the ogling first officer. His name is Gore, an abbreviation of gorilla. He certainly looks like one,” etc.

I was a little cut at this. I am not handsome, and that made it hurt all the more.

I closed the book and looked out my door into the forward cabin. It was empty. Noiselessly I stole to the door in the bulkhead and looked into the after cabin. It was empty also, and from the sounds that came from the skipper’s room it appeared that he and the passengers were absorbed in conversation over our recent danger. Here was my chance. I went softly to Mrs. Waters’s door and turned the latch. It opened and I saw that all was dark within, so I quickly deposited the book into what I supposed was the empty bunk and turned to flee. Instantly I felt my hair seized from behind and a piercing shriek rent the air close to my ear. I struggled frantically to escape, and had just gained the centre of the cabin when Crojack’s door flew open and he and his niece rushed out into the room.

The two staterooms were directly opposite and opened into the main cabin, so it was evident that he had heard the shriek and had sprung to the rescue.

He was upon me in an instant, and I believe would certainly have killed me before I could have said a word of explanation, had it been in his power to do so.

As it was, I gripped him around the body, holding his arms to his sides and strove to explain matters.

Mrs. Waters tugged lustily at my hair and screamed at the top of her voice, while her daughter looked on in consternation.

In a few moments the good lady let go my hair and very properly fainted. Then I soon had Crojack listening to reason.

When matters were straightened out a little, I went back to my bunk and lay there all the rest of my watch below, cursing my ill luck.

I said, in the beginning, that I was broad-minded, and I’ve always believed that, if there is an all-good and all-powerful Creator, there can be no wrong deduced from any action. He could and would prevent it.

Therefore, from this logical standpoint, there can be no wrong, for every one must believe in an all-good and all-powerful Creator.

From a social or religious standpoint the matter is quite different. A person can do much wrong from this standpoint.

This is not entirely a new line of reasoning, perhaps, but I’ve since come to the conclusion that it might have appeared so to Crojack and his niece at that time. Both of those looked upon that absurd affair from an illogical standpoint. Which goes to show how much wrong can be done a man by being more religious than logical. Why do good women always suspect wrong of good men? Bah!