clear up the steerage and forecastle, and set things to rights,
and to overhaul our wet clothes a little. But this did not last
very long. Between five and six--the sun was then nearly three
hours high--the cry of "All starbowlines ahoy!" summoned our watch
on deck; and immediately all hands were called. A true specimen
of Cape Horn was coming upon us. A great cloud of a dark slate-color
was driving on us from the south-west; and we did our best to take
in sail, (for the light sails had been set during the first part of
the day,) before we were in the midst of it. We had got the light
sails furled, the courses hauled up, and the topsail reef-tackles
hauled out, and were just mounting the fore-rigging, when the storm
struck us. In an instant the sea, which had been comparatively quiet,
was running higher and higher; and it became almost as dark as night.
The hail and sleet were harder than I had yet felt them; seeming to
almost pin us down to the rigging. We were longer taking in sail
than ever before; for the sails were stiff and wet, the ropes and
rigging covered with snow and sleet, and we ourselves cold and nearly
blinded with the violence of the storm. By the time we had got down
upon deck again, the little brig was plunging madly into a tremendous
head sea, which at every drive rushed in through the bow-ports and
over the bows, and buried all the forward part of the vessel. At this
instant the chief mate, who was standing on the top of the windlass,
at the foot of the spenser mast, called out, "Lay out there and furl
the jib!" This was no agreeable or safe duty, yet it must be done.
An old Swede, (the best sailor on board,) who belonged on the forecastle,
sprang out upon the bowsprit. Another one must go: I was near the mate,
and sprang forward, threw the down-haul over the windlass, and jumped
between the knight-heads out upon the bowsprit. The crew stood abaft
the windlass and hauled the jib down, while we got out upon the weather
side of the jib-boom, our feet on the foot ropes, holding on by the spar,