One by one every sail in the ship was blown from the yards, although they were furled, and, in some cases, storm-furled with extra gaskets. But the wind seemed to cut like a knife, and we could see by the lightning flashes the long ribbons of canvas streaming out and then disappearing to leeward. Had I not seen this I would not have believed it possible.
All of us, officers and men, were lashed to the weather rail, absolutely helpless, so far as our own exertions were concerned, and utterly unable to communicate with each other, as no trumpet could be heard above this wild discord of the winds and waves. No man dared leave his place lest he should be washed or blown overboard.
At about two o’clock in the morning we shipped a heavy sea, and two large, full water casks lashed amidships broke adrift and dashed from side to side, with every roll of the ship, with appalling violence, threatening to stave in our bulwarks.
It seemed certain death for any one to attempt to secure these casks, and yet it was equally certain they would do us great mischief if they were permitted to dash about in this manner.
At last one of them became temporarily blocked by some spare spars and coils of rope in the lee scuppers, and the carpenter, with a life-line attached to his waist, succeeded in staving in one of the heads of the cask, thus rendering it harmless. Watching his opportunity when the other cask came over to leeward, he was equally fortunate and staved it also, to our great relief.
The ship, meanwhile, was laboring very heavily, straining and groaning as she pitched and rolled, as helpless as a log in the heavy trough of the sea, and it was evident that her seams were opening, as we found on sounding the well that there was more than a foot of water in the hold.
“Pray God the gale may break with daylight, Kelson,” said Captain Archer, who was lashed close to me, as he saw the sounding rod drawn up from the pumps.
“Yes, sir, the old barkey won’t stand many more hours of this hammering and twisting. If the gale doesn’t break with daylight I fear we shall never see Boston again!”
With difficulty I worked my way into the cabin, to look at the barometer we had been consulting so anxiously all night. It had certainly stopped falling! Yes, and better still, the surface of the bulb was at last convex! That was at least hopeful. I returned to the deck and reported the news to my companion.
“Yes,” said he; “I really believe the wind has gone down a bit. It is scarcely perceptible yet, but I think I can notice a slight difference for the better. Can’t you sound the pumps again?”