was. And where was he? I caught sight of him toiling at the main-sheet,
heaving it in and flat with his tremendous muscles, the stern of the
schooner lifted high in the air and his body outlined against a white
surge of sea sweeping past. All this, and more,--a whole world of chaos
and wreck,--in possibly fifteen seconds I had seen and heard and grasped.

I did not stop to see what had become of the small boat, but sprang to
the jib-sheet. The jib itself was beginning to slap, partially filling
and emptying with sharp reports; but with a turn of the sheet and the
application of my whole strength each time it slapped, I slowly backed
it. This I know: I did my best. I pulled till I burst open the ends of
all my fingers; and while I pulled, the flying-jib and staysail split
their cloths apart and thundered into nothingness.

Still I pulled, holding what I gained each time with a double turn until
the next slap gave me more. Then the sheet gave with greater ease, and
Wolf Larsen was beside me, heaving in alone while I was busied taking up
the slack.

"Make fast!" he shouted. "And come on!"

As I followed him, I noted that in spite of rack and ruin a rough order
obtained. The _Ghost_ was hove to. She was still in working order, and
she was still working. Though the rest of her sails were gone, the jib,
backed to windward, and the mainsail hauled down flat, were themselves
holding, and holding her bow to the furious sea as well.

I looked for the boat, and, while Wolf Larsen cleared the boat-tackles,
saw it lift to leeward on a big sea an not a score of feet away. And, so
nicely had he made his calculation, we drifted fairly down upon it, so
that nothing remained to do but hook the tackles to either end and hoist
it aboard. But this was not done so easily as it is written.

In the bow was Kerfoot, Oofty-Oofty in the stern, and Kelly amidships.
As we drifted closer the boat would rise on a wave while we sank in the
trough, till almost straight above me I could see the heads of the three
men craned overside and looking down. Then, the next moment, we would
lift and soar upward while they sank far down beneath us. It seemed
incredible that the next surge should not crush the _Ghost_ down upon the
tiny eggshell.

But, at the right moment, I passed the tackle to the Kanaka, while Wolf
Larsen did the same thing forward to Kerfoot. Both tackles were hooked
in a trice, and the three men, deftly timing the roll