ly and went astern. And, as I said, the
maiden let him have his way; and there she stood, as night closed, erect
and steadfast, with her hands on the tiller and her brave face set
seaward.

'Twas a fearful night of shrieking wind and thundering wave. Often and
often as the brave _Misericorde_ reared and hung suspended on a wave's
crest, we knew none of us if she would ever reach the next. Lucky for
us we were a flush-decked ship and our hatches sound, for the seas that
poured over us would have filled us to the brim in an hour. Lucky, too,
the Frenchman's cargo had been snugly stowed, or we should have been on
our beam-ends before midnight. Half-way through the night, there was a
loud crack and over went our main top-mast with her sails in ribbons.
We had scarce time, at great peril, to cut her away, when another burst
snapped our mizzen almost at the deck.

"That lightens us still more," said Ludar. "Let go all the forward
canvas, and cut away. We must put her into the wind and let her drive
under bare poles."

With that he went to the helm, where indeed the maiden must have needed
succour. And there he stayed beside her till the night passed.

Afterwards he told me that he found her there, half stunned by the wind,
but never flinching, or yielding a point out of the course. "I know not
if she was pleased to see me there," said he. "She said little enough,
and hardly surrendered me the tiller. But when we put the ship into the
wind, there was little to do, save to stand and watch the sea, and
shield ourselves as best we might from the force of the waves that leapt
over the poop."

And fierce enough they were, in truth. But what was worse was that our
course now lay due west, bringing us every league nearer the coast.
Should the tempest last much longer we might have a sterner peril to
face on the iron Northumbrian shore than ever we had escaped in the open
sea.

The night passed and morning saw us driving headlong, with but one mast
standing and not a sail to bless it. The maiden who had stood at her
post since sundown yielded at last and came down, pale and drenched, to
her quarters. The poet too, who had clung all night to the halyards,
looking faithfully ahead and polishing his ode inwardly at the same
time, also crawled abaft, half frozen and stupid with drowsiness.
Indeed, there was little any of us could do, and one by one Ludar
ordered us to rest, while he, whom no labour seemed to daunt, cl