adrift from its gaskets. The shock, or succession of shocks, to the
ship, from the tremendous buffeting that followed, was fearful. It
seemed she was being racked to pieces. Master and mate were side by
side when this happened, and the expressions on their faces typified
them. In neither face was apprehension. Mr. Pike's face bore a sour
sneer for the worthless sailors who had botched the job. Captain
West's face was serenely considerative.

Still, nothing was to be done, could be done; and for five minutes
the Elsinore was shaken as in the maw of some gigantic monster, until
the last shreds of the great piece of canvas had been torn away.

"Our foresail has departed for Africa," Miss West laughed in my ear.

She is like her father, unaware of fear.

"And now we may as well go below and be comfortable," she said five
minutes later. "The worst is over. It will only be blow, blow,
blow, and a big sea making."


All day it blew. And the big sea that arose made the Elsinore's
conduct almost unlivable. My only comfort was achieved by taking to
my bunk and wedging myself with pillows buttressed against the bunk's
sides by empty soap-boxes which Wada arranged. Mr. Pike, clinging to
my door-casing while his legs sprawled adrift in a succession of
terrific rolls, paused to tell me that it was a new one on him in the
pampero line. It was all wrong from the first. It had not come on
right. It had no reason to be.