John, a Swede (the best sailor on board), who belonged on the
forecastle, sprang out upon the bowsprit. Another one must go. It
was a clear case of holding back. I was near the mate, but sprang
past several, threw the downhaul over the windlass, and jumped
between the knight-heads out upon the bowsprit. The crew stood
abaft the windlass and hauled the jib down, while John and I got
out upon the weather side of the jib-boom, our feet on the
foot-ropes, holding on by the spar, the great jib flying off to
leeward and slatting so as almost to throw us off the boom. For
some time we could do nothing but hold on, and the vessel, diving
into two huge seas, one after the other, plunged us twice into the
water up to our chins. We hardly knew whether we were on or off;
when, the boom lifting us up dripping from the water, we were
raised high into the air and then plunged below again. John
thought the boom would go every moment, and called out to the mate
to keep the vessel off, and haul down the staysail; but the fury
of the wind and the breaking of the seas against the bows defied
every attempt to make ourselves heard, and we were obliged to do
the best we could in our situation.
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