122 ALL AFLOAT 



your spunk I ' Away they go, the mate dash- 

 ing ahead ; while the furious seas shoot up 

 vindictive tongues at them and nearly wash 

 two men clean off the rigging on a level with 

 the lower topsails. Out on the swaying yard, 

 standing on the foot-rope that is strung under- 

 neath, they grasp at the hard, wet, struggling 

 canvas till they can pass the gaskets round 

 the parts still bellying between the buntlines. 

 ' One hand for the ship and one for yourself ' 

 is the rule aloft. But exceptions are more 

 plentiful than rules on a day like this. Both 

 hands must be used, though the sail and foot- 

 ropes rack your body and try their best to shake 

 you off. If they succeed, a sickening thud on 

 deck, or a smothered scream and a half-heard 

 plopp ! overside would be the end of you. 



All hands work like fury, for a full 

 Antarctic hurricane is on them. This great 

 South Polar storm has swept a thousand 

 leagues, almost unchecked, before venting its 

 utmost rage against the iron coasts all round 

 the Horn. The South Shetlands have only 

 served to rouse its temper. Its seas have 

 grown bigger with every mile from the Pole, 

 and wilder with every mile towards the Horn. 

 Now they are so enormous that even the truck 

 of the tall Yankee clipper staggering along to 



