26 I N A G U A 



ings of mast and boom, the twanging of taut ropes and the 

 noisome clatter from down below where loose objects are 

 battering back and forth. 



That blast nearly finished us. But like the stout vessel she 

 was, the Basilisk bore under the strain and carried on. We 

 were growing weak from exhaustion and cold. We could not 

 stay on deck much longer, for the waves that were spilling 

 aboard were tremendous and bid fair to sweep us into the 

 sea. We had prepared for this emergency, however, and 

 loosened the sea anchor from its lashings on the cabin top. 

 Laboriously we made it fast to a heavy hawser and eased it 

 over the bow. Swiftly the big canvas funnel filled out as the 

 ship drifted back. In a moment the hawser was taut and the 

 bow in the wind. We could now go below and let the storm 

 blow itself out. 



There was not much else to do. The wind was blowing so 

 hard that we could no longer stand on deck. Swiftly we opened 

 the companionway slide and slipped below, slamming it shut 

 before another wave came aboard. Our comfortable cabin! It 

 was a shambles. Much of the cargo that we had so carefully 

 stowed and boxed had broken loose and was strewn about. 

 Pots and pans, a barrel of potatoes, stove lids, notebooks, charts 

 and tin cans littered the floor in little piles. And with each 

 lurch these piles would slither from one end of the cabin to 

 the other. For a moment they would remain quiescent, then 

 with the tilt of the ship gather speed and bang into the distant 

 bulkhead. Then back again with a crash, intermingled with 

 the tinkling of glass and the duller sounds of metal. It was 

 inconceivable the number of articles that had come loose. Items 

 that we had nailed tightly in boxes and bins. How they ever 

 got away was difficult to understand. But they did. 



The coal stove in the galley was a mess. The iron doors were 

 opening and banging with a clatter that sounded like the rush 



