My fingers were torn loose, and I swept across to
the side and over the side into the sea. I could not swim, but before I
could sink I was swept back again. A strong hand gripped me, and when
the _Ghost_ finally emerged, I found that I owed my life to Johnson. I
saw him looking anxiously about him, and noted that Kelly, who had come
forward at the last moment, was missing.

This time, having missed the boat, and not being in the same position as
in the previous instances, Wolf Larsen was compelled to resort to a
different manoeuvre. Running off before the wind with everything to
starboard, he came about, and returned close-hauled on the port tack.

"Grand!" Johnson shouted in my ear, as we successfully came through the
attendant deluge, and I knew he referred, not to Wolf Larsen's
seamanship, but to the performance of the _Ghost_ herself.

It was now so dark that there was no sign of the boat; but Wolf Larsen
held back through the frightful turmoil as if guided by unerring
instinct. This time, though we were continually half-buried, there was
no trough in which to be swept, and we drifted squarely down upon the
upturned boat, badly smashing it as it was heaved inboard.

Two hours of terrible work followed, in which all hands of us--two
hunters, three sailors, Wolf Larsen and I--reefed, first one and then the
other, the jib and mainsail. Hove to under this short canvas, our decks
were comparatively free of water, while the _Ghost_ bobbed and ducked
amongst the combers like a cork.

I had burst open the ends of my fingers at the very first, and during the
reefing I had worked with tears of pain running down my cheeks. And when
all was done, I gave up like a woman and rolled upon the deck in the
agony of exhaustion.

In the meantime Thomas Mugridge, like a drowned rat, was being dragged
out from under the forecastle head where he had cravenly ensconced
himself. I saw him pulled aft to the cabin, and noted with a shock of
surprise that the galley had disappeared. A clean space of deck showed
where it had stood.

In the cabin I found all hands assembled, sailors as well, and while
coffee was being cooked over the small stove we drank whisky and crunched
hard-tack. Never in my life had food been so welcome. And never had hot
coffee tasted so good. So violently did the _Ghost_, pitch and toss and
tumble that it was impossible for even the sailors to move about without
holding on, and several times, after a c