143 I learn of flamingos and hurricanes 



in the partly open hatchway, a hand against the straining boom. 

 As each crisis arrived and every succeeding squall seemed trying 

 to engulf us it was met by a flurry of wild shouts and clumsy 

 activity. In spite of everything, McPhee managed to prevent the 

 sloop from falling off and wallowing broadside. The seas were 

 now of respectable size, although, in the utter darkness, we had to 

 judge them by the lift and surge of the vessel rather than by sight. 

 It rained tons of water in a heavy, unrestrained manner, as if 

 poured out of a gigantic tub squarely on top of us. Once, utterly 

 tired and on the thin edge of seasickness, I dropped inside the 

 low cabin and stretched out on a bunk. Semi-enclosed as it was, 

 the heaving and worrying of the tiny craft seemed even more 

 pronounced than on deck. I rolled hard against the inside of the 

 planking, then teetered on the opposite edge of the bunk. The 

 clatter and banging on deck, the high-pitched, completely unin- 

 telligible shouts of my black companions, and the moaning shriek 

 of wind and sea no one could rest in that. After a few minutes 

 I pulled myself to the hatchway again. Herby had crawled aft for 

 a moment to consult with the skipper. It was a shouted consulta- 

 tion, although they were clinging to each other for support. Few 

 of the words were clear to me, and at one point McPhee, ap- 

 parently sensing this, said, loud and clear and directly in my face, 

 "You'll forgive it if we use our own words at such a time. It is 

 easier." I understood then that the phrases I was unable to follow 

 were pure African, words held to by these transplanted people 

 for more than 150 years. 



There was worse in store for us. It may have been close to mid- 

 night when a series of violent and erratic squalls had us aching 

 and exhausted, too weary and uncomfortable to care that we 

 were so wet and cold. Already it seemed like the longest night 

 I had ever experienced. In the midst of one usually severe gust, 

 McPhee and Herby began shouting more excitedly than at any 

 time since the gale began. For the first time that night I began to 

 feel real alarm, for McPhee, who had remained a perfect rock of 

 calmness, was now quite obviously disturbed. He had had his dark 

 face almost inside the dilapidated compass and, as he looked up and 

 shouted, there was surprise and disbelief and a definite note of 



