The nakhoda was still unconscious, so we secured him to a ring to prevent him being washed overboard.
Someone lashed a handkerchief round my head and stopped the bleeding. That made me more comfortable, and I was able to take stock of our position.
Kuh-i-Mubarak, that hill near the southern creek, was now abreast us, just visible through the gale. The shamel roared down on us more fiercely than ever, driving in front of it a wild, jumping, short sea, twenty feet high, with boiling crests. That such waves could have been whipped up in such a short time seemed incredible.
Every now and then the launch's white side and her yellow funnel and mast showed up against the dark sky to wind'ard; so she was still safe. But we were more than two thousand yards to leeward of her, and how I was going to beat up against that wind and sea in this crazy dhow I didn't know.
However, I was not going to leave the launch helpless; I knew that she could not raise steam for a long time, and determined to make the attempt.
"I'm going to hoist that sail—part way up—see if we can work to wind'ard," I bawled to Dobson.
He shouted back: "She'll never do it, sir; not in this sea."
We should have to try anyway; so we rolled up and lashed the foot of that huge sail as firmly as we could, and, having done that, all four of us clapped on to the main-halyard purchase and slowly raised the big yard about three feet. What canvas was now free lashed about ferociously, giving us stern way.
"Stand by your main sheets," I yelled. "Stand by to ease and haul your tiller hard a-starboard."
Dobson and Wiggins dashed aft to obey, and, as the rudder was put over, our bows began to pay off from the gale, and, doing so, the full force of it broke on the beam; that scrap of sail filled, and bore us over until our bows were buried in the sea.