22 I N A G U A 



For a moment I stood beside Coleman at the wheel. 



"I think we had better take in some sail," I muttered, "while 

 we can." 



Hardly were the words out when the thing happened. A 

 freak wave rushing from out of the darkness caught our stern, 

 lifted it high out of the water and, catching the bow as it 

 passed, swung our tiny ship to one side. And as the stern rose, 

 the great spreading mainsail with its heavy boom swept to cen- 

 ter and then jibed with a sickening crash. Hundreds of pounds 

 of heavy canvas, iron and wood driven by a strong wind caught 

 me a smashing blow full in the face and dropped me senseless 

 to the railing. 



How long I lay there I do not know. Coleman groped for 

 my inert body in the darkness and hauled me to the wheel box 

 where he sat with one leg entwined about my waist to prevent 

 my slipping over the low railing. Then from out of the ocean 

 came a low moaning sound that momentarily increased in 

 volume, a swelling chorus of wind-lashed waves combining in 

 a wild medley that knows no description. Only those who have 

 heard it will understand. The thing we had most feared had 

 come. 



With a surge of cold air the storm broke. Our tiny vessel, 

 still under full sail, heeled far to the blast, heeled until the lee 

 ports were under water, until it seemed that we must turn over. 

 And Coleman in all the welter of spray and churning water 

 struggled in the dark to secure my body so he would be free 

 to shorten sail; with one hand he spun the wheel to relieve the 

 strain. Soon huge waves from out of the darkness were wash- 

 ing our craft from stem to stern. The wonder of it is that the 

 sails were not blown away or torn to ribbons. But by some 

 miracle they held. Before leaving our native Chesapeake Bay, 

 the oystermen and yachtsmen had laughed at our heavy sails 

 and rigging, were amused at the canvas they said was thick 



