riving the decks in! A shelf of solid ice, tons weight
of it, crashes aboard and shatters the fore-hatch! Now there is a
grind and scream of buckling iron, as the beams give to the
strain--ring of stays and guy-ropes, parting at high tension--crash of
splintering wood! The heaving monster draws off, reels, and comes at
us again! Another blow and----

"'Vast lowering! Hold on! Hold on the boat there!" The Old Man, come
on deck with his treasured papers, has seen more than the wreck of the
head! He runs to the compass--a look--then casts his eyes aloft.
"Square mainyards!" His voice has the old confident ring: the ring we
know. "Square main yards! ... A hand t' th' wheel!"

Doubting, we hang around the boat. She swings clear, all ready! The
jar of a further blow sets us staggering for foothold! What chance?
... "A hand t' th' wheel, here," roars the Old Man. Martin looks up
... goes back to his post.

A man at the wheel again! No longer the fearful sight of the main post
deserted; no longer the jar and rattle of a handless helm! Martin's
action steadies us. What dread, when the oldest of us all stands there
grasping the spokes, waiting the order? ... We leave the swinging
boat and hurry to the braces!

A 'chance' has come! The power of gales long since blown out is
working a way for us: the ghostly descendants of towering Cape Horn
'greybeards' have come to our aid!

As we struck, sidling on the bows, the swell has swept our stern round
the berg. Now we are head to wind and the big foresail is flat against
the mast, straining sternward!

It is broad day, and we see the 'calf' plainly as we drift under
stern-way apart. The gap widens! A foot--a yard--an oar's-length!
Now the wind stirs the canvas on the main--a clew lifts--the tops'ls
rustle and blow out, drawing finely! Her head still swings!

"Foreyards! Le'go an' haul!" roars the Old Man. We are stern on to
the main ice. Already the swell--recurving from the sheer base--is
hissing and breaking about us. There is little room for sternboard.
"Le'go an' haul!" We roar a heartening chorus as we drag the standing
head yards in.

Slowly she brings up ... gathers way ... moves ahead! The 'calf' is
dead to windward, the loom of the main ice astern and a-lee. The wind
has strengthened: in parts the mist has cleared. Out to the south'ard
a lift shows clear water. We are broad to the swell now, but sailing
free as Martin keeps her off!