“Sure, Dan,” I replied, “go ahead and give the orders. We’ll all do what you say.”
So to poor Danenhower, for nearly two years now nothing but a helpless burden on the rest of us, had at last come opportunity to serve. The crisp way in which he rattled out the orders, stationing the men, infused new strength into the exhausted crew. To stocky Bartlett went the most important task; he was posted in the bow with the drag, and the anchor line was carefully coiled down at his feet, ready for running freely out when he heaved the drag over at the word. Bosun Cole stood by the halliards to douse sail, with Aneguin and Tong Sing to gather in the canvas as it came down. I tended the sheet, Leach steered, Manson stood by an oar poised high on the port side, and Wilson an oar similarly ready to starboard. This left only Lauterbach to tend to the bailing, for Newcomb, as always, was next to worthless even though he now had the excuse of extreme seasickness to mask his piddling efforts at real labor.
With a last all-hands dash to bail down as dry as possible, the men took their stations. In silence and in darkness we waited, holding up the weathercloths while several tremendous waves rolled by and we rocked wildly to them. Judging then that we should have a momentarily quieter sea, Danenhower bellowed,
“Out oars! Starboard the helm! Down sail!”
Down dropped the weathercloths, out shot the two oars, hard astarboard went the tiller, and down came the flapping sail and yard as we swung off to port, trying quickly to come about and head up into the sea. Wilson to starboard gave way valiantly on his oar while Manson to port backed heavily on his, endeavoring to get her spun about before the next wave caught us broadside, when with the boat hardly more than a quarter way round—Crash! came a wave tumbling in over our low gunwale and flooding us to the thwarts!
Heaving to was forgotten. With might and main all hands dropped their tasks to start bailing again except Leach and the oarsmen who struggled desperately to straighten her out again on her old course before the waterlogged whaleboat broached to the next wave and capsized. By the grace of God we succeeded in that, and hearts in our mouths, bailed madly while with the oars alone we kept away before the sea till the boat was sufficiently dry to risk coming about once more.
After a hurried consultation with Dan, I stationed the men as before, and we stood tensely by. Again we pitched crazily to a succession of roaring crests and as we slid dizzily down the trough of the third one, Dan once more sang out the orders.
This time, with oars thrashing the sea in desperation, we swung more quickly, and before the next wave struck, we had the boat spun about, head on to its breaking crest as our bow suddenly lifted to a tremendous wave.
“Let go the drag!” bawled Dan, and Bartlett in the bow tossed over the canvas triangle. At that instant, the bow dived sickeningly into the next trough, and Bartlett, off balance, pitched headlong forward toward the sea!
For an instant I thought he was gone completely with little chance of our getting to him before the sea swept him away, but fortunately our slacked halliards were streaming out over the bow and as Bartlett shot overboard he got his right hand on the halliards, stopping his plunge. The next second, as he hung there in air, the boat rose again to the crest of a huge wave, the mast whipped back, and Bartlett came flying inboard on the halliards against the mast to which he clung for dear life as he slowly slid down to the thwarts.