the weather. The sea was white like a sheet of foam, like a caldron of boiling milk; there was not a break in the clouds, noânot the size of a manâs handâno, not for so much as ten seconds. There was for us no sky, there were for us no stars, no sun, no universeânothing but angry clouds and an infuriated sea. We pumped watch and watch, for dear life; and it seemed to last for months, for years, for all eternity, as though we had been dead and gone to a hell for sailors. We forgot the day of the week, the name of the month, what year it was, and whether we had ever been ashore. The sails blew away, she lay broadside on under a weather cloth, the ocean poured over her, and we did not care. We turned those handles, and had the eyes of idiots. As soon as we had crawled on deck I used to take a round turn with a rope about the men, the pumps, and the mainmast, and we turned, we turned incessantly, with the water to our waists, to our necks, over our heads. It was all one. We had forgotten how it felt to be dry.
âAnd there was somewhere in me the thought: By Jove! This is the deuce of an adventureâsomething you read about; and it is my first voyage as second mateâand I am only twentyâand here I am lasting it out as well as any of these men, and keeping my chaps up to the mark. I was pleased. I would not have given up the experience for worlds. I had moments of exultation. Whenever the old dismantled craft pitched heavily with her counter high in the air, she seemed to me to throw up, like an appeal, like a defiance, like a cry to the clouds without mercy, the words written on her stern: âJudea, London. Do or Die.â
âO youth! The strength of it, the faith of it, the imagination of it! To me she was not an old rattletrap carting about the world a lot of coal for a freightâto me she was the endeavor, the test, the trial of life. I think of her with pleasure, with affection, with regretâas you would think of someone dead you have loved. I shall never forget her. . . . Pass the bottle.
âOne night when tied to the mast, as I explained, we were pumping on, deafened with the wind, and without spirit enough in us to wish ourselves dead, a heavy sea crashed aboard and swept clean over us. As soon as I got my breath I shouted, as in duty bound, âKeep on, boys!â when suddenly I felt something hard floating on deck strike the calf of my leg. I made a grab at it and missed. It was so dark we could not see each otherâs faces within a footâyou understand.
âAfter that thump the ship kept quiet for a while, and the thing, whatever it was, struck my leg again. This time I caught itâand it was a saucepan. At first, being stupid with fatigue and thinking of nothing but the pumps, I did not understand what I had in my hand. Suddenly it dawned upon me, and I shouted, âBoys, the house on deck is gone. Leave this, and letâs look for the cook.â
âThere was a deckhouse forward, which contained the galley, the cookâs berth, and the quarters of the crew. As we had expected for days to see it swept away, the hands had been ordered to sleep in the cabinâthe only safe place in the ship. The steward, Abraham, however, persisted in clinging to his berth, stupidly, like a muleâfrom sheer fright I believe, like an animal that wonât leave a stable falling in an earthquake. So we went to look for him. It was chancing death, since once out of our lashings we were as exposed as if on a raft. But we went. The house was shattered as if a shell had exploded inside. Most of it had gone overboardâstove, menâs quarters, and their property, all was gone; but two posts, holding a portion of the bulkhead to which Abrahamâs bunk was attached, remained as if by a miracle. We groped in the ruins and came upon this, and there he was, sitting in his bunk, surrounded by foam and wreckage, jabbering cheerfully to himself. He was out