"Well, never mind, Jim," thought I; "I'm doing
it for you."
Before eleven a third reef was taken in the main-sail,
and Johnson filled the cabin with a storm-sail of No. 1
duck, and sat cross-legged on the streaming floor,
vigorously putting it to rights with a couple of the
hands. By dinner I had fled the deck, and sat in the
bench corner, giddy, dumb, and stupefied with terror.
The frightened leaps of the poor NORAH CREINA,
spanking like a stag for bare existence, bruised me
between the table and the berths. Overhead, the wild
huntsman of the storm passed continuously in one blare
of mingled noises; screaming wind, straining timber,
lashing rope's-end, pounding block and bursting sea
contributed; and I could have thought there was at
times another, a more piercing, a more human note, that
dominated all, like the wailing of an angel; I could
have thought I knew the angel's name, and that his
wings were black. It seemed incredible that any
creature of man's art could long endure the barbarous
mishandling of the seas, kicked as the schooner was
from mountain-side to mountain-side, beaten and blown
upon and wrenched in every joint and sinew, like a
child upon the rack.
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