The heavy ship wore slowly under the three lower topsails, but finally came up on the starboard tack, heading almost due north.
When she first headed the sea, a big fellow caught her a little forward of the starboard beam and bore her down until her lee rail was well under water. Then, with a sudden lurch, she righted, sending the flood across the deck and filling the forward cabin and alleyways. The main-deck was full of water, and under the extra load the clipper settled almost to her deck amidships.
The ports in the bulwarks were nailed up and the water would not get clear fast enough through the scuppers. The men were called aft on the poop, while O’Toole and myself, armed with handspikes, started to break out the bulwarks in the waist.
In a few moments we were joined by the third mate, who stood knee-deep in the foam and strove lustily to force the heavy planks from the vessel’s timbers.
While we worked I felt the ship take a heave to windward, and at the same instant heard Crojack’s voice bawling out something.
I turned my head just in time to see a blue hill of water rise high above the weather-rail.
Then, with a tremendous, smothering crash, it fell on deck and rolled over us.
I had just time to grasp the main brace when my feet were swept from under me and I felt myself beneath the surface.
Holding on with both hands, I tried to get my head out of the water, and in a moment the ship righted, jerking me back on to the main-deck.
As soon as I could see anything, I looked for O’Toole and Brown. And then, yes, and then I must confess how weak a strong man is, I looked aft to see if a bright face was enjoying the excitement.