Thompson stood bareheaded near the binnacle, and roared to the men to be
careful and keep her steady. It was plain he knew nothing of seamanship,
but could tell that a thing must be done well after the mate had given
orders. He was apparently perfectly sober now, and as cool as though on
the beach. It was evident the man feared nothing and could command. I saw
that I could be of little use aft, so I started forward, hoping to be
able to keep a lookout for a shift of wind and get some gear ready to
heave the vessel to.

On reaching the main deck, things showed to be in a hopeless mess.
Everything movable had gone to leeward when she was hove down, the
running rigging was lying about, and no attempt had been made to coil
it. The sea, which had been over the lee rail, had washed that on the
starboard side into long tangles which would take hours to clear. I
stumbled over a mass of rope which must have been the fore topsail
brace. I saw a figure moving through the gloom along the bulwarks and
called for the man to lay aft and coil down some of the gear. The man,
however, paid no attention to me, but made his way into the forward
cabin, and as the door opened and the light from within flashed out I
recognized the third mate.

A man named Hans answered my hail, and I started forward again. The sea
by this time was running rapidly. The ship was so deep that I knew she
would not keep her deck clear, and I started to gain the topgallant
forecastle where the height would make it safer.

Just as I gained the highest step, a tremendous sea following broke clear
along the top of the rail in the waist, and went forward a good five feet
above her bulwarks, the entire length of the main deck.