Steadily she raced onward towards the north and still no signs of the approaching storm which the skipper had feared. But the glass was falling steadily, the clouds scurried in wispy shreds across the sky and the waves constantly increased in size.
The following morning, the boys came on deck to find the crew aloft shortening sail, with only the lower topsails and spanker set and the bark wallowing sluggishly to the long, oily rollers running in from the western horizon.
“Looks like a mighty hard blow a-comin’,” remarked Mr. Kemp to the boys. “Some wind behind these rollers you can bet.”
Then, hurrying forward, he barked out orders while the crew scurried about, lashing down everything movable, securing the boats and making everything snug. Much to the boys’ surprise the negro, Sam, was the liveliest and hardest worker of all and despite his peg-leg, he scrambled aloft like a cat and hopped along on the footropes with the best of them.
Cap’n Pem eyed him approvingly. “Derned if he ain’t a proper sailorman,” he remarked. “Wisht ev’ry gosh-derned man’d lose a leg if ’twould make ’em good as him.”
By noon, the sky had become a deep, sickly, yellowish-gray, the seas had increased to mountainous size, and ever and anon, a sudden blast of cold, chilling wind screeched through the rigging, heeling the bark to her lee-rails, only to be followed by an ominous calm. By now, the bark had been stripped to close-reefed topsails and Captain Edwards and old Pem paced the deck with anxious faces, peering intently into the west, while at the wheel three men were stationed with lashings ready for instant use in case of emergency. Along the rails and between the masts, lifelines had been stretched and everywhere were evidences of preparations for severe weather.
Suddenly, from the lookout forward, came a sharp, warning shout and against the black horizon, the boys saw a streak of milky-white, gleaming like snow against the inky sea.
“Hold fast!” roared Cap’n Pem, plunging to the shrouds and bracing himself. “Git below there, boys! Hurricane’s a comin’!”
But before they could obey, the screaming wind was upon them. The boys had a passing glimpse of the steersmen hastily lashing themselves fast, of the skipper wrapping his arms about a backstay, and the next second, they were half smothered under a blinding, roaring sheet of snow and hail. They felt themselves lifted from the deck, their hands were torn loose from their grip upon the companionway; they were whirled, bumped, tossed and rolled head over heels and were sure their last moment had come when, with a resounding thump, they brought up against the mizzen mast and clung to the belaying pins for dear life. Over and over went the bark, until it seemed as if her swaying yards would be buried in the hissing brine and her deck sloped like the roof of a house, while overhead, with the roar of thunder, howled the gale. Then, when the boys thought destruction was inevitable, there was a report like a cannon above them and the great topsail ripped from its bolt-ropes and sped, like a huge bird, into the murk. Gradually and sluggishly the bark righted, her bow swung off, and gathering headway, she sped before the hurricane like a frightened bird. For hour after hour the wind screeched through the rigging and the Hector tore onwards before the gale, burying herself under tons of green water, staggering drunkenly to the summits of the white-crested waves, but gallantly, bravely, weathering the storm. After the first mad onslaught the worst of the hurricane had blown itself out and the boys, clinging to the lifeline, had crawled aft, drenched and half frozen and had taken to the cabin. Then, changing clothes and buttoning pea-jackets and oil skins about them, they again made their way on deck, for life was unbearable in the tossing, groaning, heaving cabin and the boys felt deathly sick as long as they were below.
The storm, however, while severe, was not of long duration and by eight bells the wind had died down, the glass had begun to rise and Captain Edwards ordered the crew to make more sail.