sometimes clear to the topgallant yard, nearly a hundred feet above the
deck, while all forward would disappear in the flying spray and spume.

"Fine weather, Rolling, hey?" bawled the skipper to me as I gained the
poop.

"Oh, it isn't so bad the way she's taking it now. If she hangs on as
well as this during the watch, she'll make good weather of it all
right," I said.

"I'm glad you think so, my son. Just call down to the steward to bring me
a bracer. Whew, just look at that!"

As he spoke a huge sea rose on the weather bow and bore down on the
staggering ship. It struck her fair and rolled over her so heavily that I
had to grab a line to keep from being knocked down. The main deck was
full of water, and as it roared off through the ports and over the lee
rail, I looked to see if anything had gone with it. Then I realized how
well we had been washed during the night.

From the forecastle aft to the poop there was nothing left except the
hatches and deck-house. The boats were all stove to matchwood except one
that was lashed on the forward house. The bulwarks were smashed for many
feet along both sides, but this was no real damage, as it allowed the sea
to run off easier, relieving the deck of the heavy load. The whole main
deck, fore and aft, was as clean stripped as could be, and the hatches
alone were saving us from filling and going under.

It was a dismal sight, and the men who stood huddled on the
forecastle and poop looked, in their yellow oilskins, like so many