ath till they can get their heads out again. _Yo--ho_! _Yo--hay_!
'In with her!' _Heigh--o--oh_! 'Turn that!' 'All fast!'

''Way aloft and roll her up quick!' The tossing crests are blown into
spindrift against the weather yardarm, while a pelting hailstorm stings
the wet, cold hands and faces. The men tear at the sail with their
numb fingers till their nails are bleeding. They hit it, pull it,
clutch at it for support. Certain death would follow a fall from
aloft; for the whole deck is hidden under a surging, seething mass of
water. You would swear the water's boiling if it wasn't icy cold. The
skipper's at the wheel, watching his {126} chance. There is no such
thing as a good chance now. But he sees one of some kind, just as the
men get the sail on the yard and are trying to make it fast. Down goes
the helm, and her head comes slowly up to the wind. 'She's doing
it---- No! Hang on, all! Great snakes, here comes a sea!' Struck
full, straight on her beam, by wind and sea together, the _Victoria_
lays over as if she would never stop. Over she heels to it--over,
over, over! A second is a long suspense at such a time as this. The
sea breaks in thunder along her whole length, and pours in a sweeping
cataract across her deck, smashing the boats and dragging all loose
gear to leeward. Over she heels--over, over, over! The yards are
nearly up and down. The men cling desperately, as if to an inverted
mast. And well they may, especially on the leeward arm that dips them
far under a surge of water which seems likely to snap the whole thing
off. But the _Victoria's_ cargo and ballast never shift an inch. Her
stability is excellent. And as the heaving shoulder eases down she
holds her keel in, just before another lurch would send her turning
turtle. A pause . . . a quiver . . . and she begins to right. 'Now
then,' roars the indomitable mate, the moment his dripping {127}
yardarm comes from under, 'turn to, there--d' y' think we 're going to
hang on here the whole damn' day?' Whereupon the men turn to again
with twice the confidence and hearty goodwill that any other form of
reassurance could possibly have given them.

As she comes back towards an even keel the wind catches the sails. The
skipper is still at the wheel, to which he and the two men whose trick
it is are clinging. 'Hard-a-lee!' and round she goes this time, till
she snuggles into a good lie-to, which keeps her alternately coming up
and