It was terrific. The thundering crash and smothering jar nearly
paralyzed me for a moment. In the dim glare I could see rails,
stanchions, boats, rigging, all in the furious white rush. The _Pirate_
settled under the load and seemed to stop perfectly still. Then another
huge sea went roaring over her and blotted out everything to the edge of
the forecastle head.

I stood looking down at the main deck in amazement. How long would the
hatches stand that strain? Everything was out of sight under water, save
the top of the forward house. I looked up into the roaring void above me
and breathed a parting prayer, for it seemed that the ship's end must be
at hand. Then I was aware that she was broaching to, and I grabbed the
rail to meet the sea.

Every stitch of canvas had gone out of her now, and nothing but the bare
yards were left aloft. How they ever stood the frightful strain was a
miracle and spoke volumes for the Yankee riggers who fitted her out. The
wind bore more and more abeam, and under the pressure she heeled over,
letting the great load on her decks roar off in a torrent to leeward,
over the topgallant rail and waterways. A sea struck her so heavily that
the larger portion of it went thundering clear across her forty feet of
deck, landing bodily to leeward as though the ship were below the
surface. I could hear a bawling coming faintly from the poop and knew
Trunnell was trying to heave her to. Something fluttered from the mizzen
rigging and disappeared into the night. Part of a tarpaulin had gone, but
it was a chance to get another piece large enough on the ratlines to hold
her head up. I tried to make my way aft again to help, for I saw it was
about our only hope, and started to crawl along the weather topgallant
rail. Then a form sprang from the black recess under the forecastle head
and seized me tightly around the body.