On deck when they saw it coming they had all jumped below and pulled the hatches after them. They began to come out now, and the skipper called for us to come down. Nothing was washed from her deck. Of course, everything before that had been double-lashed—dories and barrels of gasolene—before that. The skipper now ordered the bung pulled from a full barrel of gasolene. We stove one in and let the oil run out; and the seas calmed to leeward and we threw a dory to the lee rail, after lashing an empty gasolene barrel to each side of her.
"Whoever's handiest jump in!" yelled the skipper.
Big Bill was handy to the dory, but he never would have made it if John hadn't stopped to push him over the gunnel from behind. Shorty and Oliver leaped over the other gunnel. I waited for John; but the skipper had called "More oil and another dory!" and John had turned back.
We four—Bill, Shorty, Oliver, and myself—were hardly in when a sea came over the vessel's deck and swept our dory away—wh-f-f! like that. She all but filled to the gunnels before we were fair away from the vessel's side, but the two empty barrels kept her from sinking. And before another sea could get a fair chance at her Oliver and Bill were busy bailing her, and Shorty and I keeping her head to the sea with an oar astern. We looked back to the vessel, and could see them rigging up another dory and breaking out another barrel of oil.
We kept going in our dory—none of us could say how long, whether it was one hour or four, we were all so busy—Big Bill and Oliver with their heads down bailing her out with their sou'-westers, and Shorty and I with an oar keeping her head to windward. Bill and Oliver had to bail pretty fast. Bill kept getting out of wind and Oliver's eye-glasses kept getting wet with salt water so he couldn't see out of them.
"What d'y' want to see out of 'em for?" asks Shorty. "We're here in the stern to do the seein' an' the steerin'. Might's well heave your specks overboard."
Oliver hove them overboard.
So far as our seeing went we never saw the vessel which picked us up until after she saw us. She was the Esther Ray and she was under a jumbo and storm trysail, working off from the shoal water and having trouble enough; but they saw us, and stood down and hailed. We made out what they said, more by their signs than by what words we heard.
"I'll tack and come by close to looard of you!" called Tom Haile, her skipper; "and when I do, take your chance and come board. You'll maybe have to jump!"
He had to watch his chance to tack. He waited maybe five minutes, both hands on the spokes, waiting and watching. And then he gave her the wheel; and when he did, it was something to look at. Between seas and sky she hung for I don't know how long—maybe five seconds, maybe ten, maybe thirty seconds—between heaven and hell she hung, before she came over. And, man, when she did, she wouldn't have started a pack thread. Judgment there, boy! Then falling and rising, and falling again, she came down onto us. A sea lifted our dory straight for her; up we went and down—straight for her windward rail. We watched. We jumped—all but Bill. He was hove aboard. The dory under us was smashed on her rail as we jumped, but we could spare the dory—we were safe aboard the Esther.