pletely flooded. The higher tier of sleepers were more fortunate, and from Slinger's bunk something like a snore might have been heard but for the din of the storm. The carpenter succeeded in closing the port effectually without disturbing Slinger.—"Well" he said, looking at him, "perhaps that man aint a whole team of himself at a nap."
Hugh followed the carpenter and contrived to reach the hatchway after scrambling over all sorts of impediments, for every thing seemed to have changed places. He had scarcely got his head above the level of the deck, when there was a cry that the rudder band had got foul or broken, and that the vessel would not steer. The grandeur of the scene at this moment made him nearly overlook the perils which surrounded him. The sky was clearer, and as he steadied himself, he could see the long seas rolling after the ship in endless succession; their crested tops blown into spray by the fury of the wind, which literally screeched through the rigging. The mainsail split with a great noise, and in a few moments was lashed into shreds. The captain was on deck, his white hair streaming in the wind, but he stood calm and collected, giving directions to secure the rudder again: the vessel then broached to. She rode easier for a moment, and then settled in a trough of the sea. A tremendous wave struck her as Hugh was descending the hatchway, and he heard the captain shout "Hold on, my lads—for your lives." Then followed a shock as if every timber of the vessel was being wrenched asunder, and a flood of water swept Hugh off his legs, and left him on the floor of the intermediate saloon, where he rolled about almost as helpless as the numerous articles which the storm had torn from their fastenings: he succeeded in getting again on his legs, and scrambling to the deck, reached the captain's side, who roared his commands through a trumpet, as the ship lay over
