Blow the Man Down - A Romance of the Coast

"If the Conomo has got her grit with her and lives through it," said

Captain Candage, "we'll be here to give her three cheers when it's over.

And if she goes down we'll be on deck to flap her a fare-ye-well."

In that spirit they snugged everything on board the schooner and

prepared to defy the storm. It came in the night, with a howl of blast

and a fusillade of sleet like bird-shot. It stamped upon the throbbing

sea and made tumult in water and air. At midnight they were wallowing

with only a forestays'l that was iced to the hardness of boiler plate.

But though the vast surges flung their mighty arms in efforts to grasp

the schooner, she dodged and danced on her nimble way and frustrated

their malignity. Her men did not sleep; they thawed themselves in relays

and swarmed on deck again. Each seemed to be animated by personal and

vital interest.

"You can't buy crews like this one with wages," observed Captain

Candage, icicled beard close to Mayo's ear. "I reckon it was about as my

Polly said--you cast bread on the waters when you took their part on Hue

and Cry."

The young man, clinging to a cleat and watching the struggles of their

craft, waved a mittened hand to signify that he agreed. In that riot

of tempest and ruck of sea he was straining his eyes, trying to get a

glimpse of the hulk on Razee. But the schooner had worked her way too

far off to the west, pressed to leeward by the relentless palm of the

storm.

Then at last came morning, an opaque dawn that was shrouded with

swirling snow, and all was hidden from their eyes except the tumbling

mountains of water which swept to them, threatened to engulf them,

and then melted under their keel. The captains could only guess at the

extent of their drift, but when the wind quieted after midday, and they

were able to get sail on the schooner, they were in no doubt as to the

direction in which the steamer must lie. They began their sloshing ratch

back to east.

Mayo braved nipping wind and iced rigging and took the glass to the main

crosstrees. He remained there though he was chilled through and through.

At last, near the horizon's rim, he spied a yeasty tumult of the sea,

marking some obstruction at which the waves were tussling. In the midst

of this white welter there was a shape that was almost spectral under

the gray skies. The little schooner pitched so ferociously that only

occasionally could he bring this object into the range of the glass. But

he made sure at last. He clutched the glass and tobogganed to deck down

the slippery shrouds.