as long as the trade-wind lasted i managed to run the ship well enough with brown’s help, for there was seldom much to do in the way of handling canvas, but as we neared the zone of variables things took a different turn. the third mate was not enough of a sailor to take advantage of the slants, and the heavy weather of the pampero was approaching. it made it necessary for me to be on deck most of the time, and even then i could not save some of the lighter canvas which was caught in a squall. the strain was hard, but benson, who kept strict watch with his mate, johnson, called me at any sudden change and spared me not at all.

one morning it fell dead calm. the sun shone through a sort of haze and the day was cool. we had made thirty-three{221} degrees of southing and were about four hundred miles off the plate. the swell ran smoothly, but even through its oily surface one could see the swirls of the current from the great river. they formed tide rips which ridged the ocean for a space and then disappeared only to form again when a mass of water would force its way to the surface. the sea had lost its blue colour and it was dull. about eleven o’clock in the morning the sun broke through the haze and shone strongly. there was absolutely no wind and we lay drifting all around the compass. suddenly, from a great distance, came the deep roll of thunder. the sky was now absolutely cloudless and the rolling crashes following each other at close intervals made an uncanny sound. not a tip of cloud bank rose above the horizon, and the men about the deck gazed in some astonishment at the noise.

i knew it well, and knew it was the pampero from the river plate. we would get a touch of it during the night and then{222} things would be somewhat mixed aboard the arrow.

it started to breeze up gently from the westward about sundown, but not a cloud rose above the horizon. by nine o’clock that night it grew very dark. the blackness was most impenetrable. the wind came sighing over the smooth sea, and i began to strip the ship for the fracas.

we carried no running lights, as benson didn’t care to be seen at night, although, for that matter, he would have been much safer than in the daytime. his ideas upon nautical subjects were at a variance with my own, but i made no comment. we carried a light in the binnacle in order to steer. besides this single lamp there was never a light allowed aboard the ship except in the captain’s cabin.

i was very tired that evening, but stayed upon the poop watching the west on the lookout for the first signs of a squall. about ten o’clock there was sharp lightning to starboard. we were heading almost due south and our yards were sharp on the{223} starboard tack. suddenly the blackness grew denser to windward. a deep murmuring came over the inky sea. then a puff of wind smote sharply.

“hard up, hard up that wheel,” i bawled, as the thrashing of the weather leech of the maintopsail warned me. brown sprang to the wheel and with the man already there rolled it hard up. then with a rush and droning roar through the rigging the pampero struck us.

luckily, we had steering-way, for if she had not answered her helm on the instant, the arrow would have been taken flat aback and dismasted, which would have meant a terrible ending for the desperate rascals. a dismasted ship in mid-ocean is usually a lost ship. the horrors of a boat cruise in overloaded small craft in that latitude meant the worst that could happen to the seafarer.

with a heel to leeward that brought the water well up on her deck, the arrow paid off before the gale and tore her way through a sea which now shone ghastly and white{224} with the phosphorescent foam. i looked aloft and saw that every yard-arm and truck held a ball of fire. the bellying lower topsails of the heaviest double nought canvas strained away like the wings of some giant bird in the night overhead. the roar of the wind rushing through the standing rigging and pouring out under the foot of the canvas made the cries of the men sound faint and distant, those on the yard-arms rolling up the lighter canvas bawling to those on deck in strained and frantic tones. none of the convicts had seen such weather before and the flare of the st. elmo fires lent a ghastliness to the scene that might have made a sailor’s heart beat quicker. a man came close to me on the poop muttering curses and prayers and feeling about for something he probably did not want. a bright flash of lightning lit the scene, and i saw a crowd of men on the main-deck forward, huddled under the port side of the forward house. they seemed absolutely panic-stricken. however, we had some sailor-men aboard, and they worked manfully{225} getting gaskets upon the yards and the gear cleared up after a fashion. then i managed to get the yards squared and ran the ship dead before the blast, leaving a wake flashing and whitening a full hundred feet on either side.

a flash of lightning showed benson standing near the break of the poop. he was straining his eyes to windward and holding on to a line, but he appeared little concerned. close by, leaning against the mizzen with his arms folded and pipe stuck rakishly in his mouth, was johnson. whatever the two ruffians felt, i knew that fear found no place in their hearts. they were trusting me to see them safely through, and all the time, whether they knew it or not, the thought of the girl below in the scoundrel’s stateroom was the only thing that kept me from sending them to hell. a sudden swing into the wind and a couple of cast off braces, and the fate of the villains would be as certain as death and suffering itself. yet, there they stood, trusting me. i never could understand it, and i thought upon it{226} for some time that night in the black rush of the pampero. the futility of their struggles, the absolute hopelessness of their case, were all plain before me, but they were unconcerned.

benson was a fatalist of the most pronounced type. he dealt only and simply with the present. the past was irrevocably dead, blotted out. the future was a mystery, absolute and unyielding to even the subtlest mind. he dealt with what matter he had in hand nor worried himself the least with that he held in no control.

on and on into the blackness ahead we tore at the rate of fifteen knots an hour with the wind upon our starboard taffrail. no one went on lookout, although i ordered a man to do so. whoever went forward was probably swallowed in the crowd of frightened convicts, or took advantage of the panic to turn in and get some much needed rest. i knew we were entering the zone of commerce and would probably sight some vessel soon, and the thought of tearing away into the night at the wild rate{227} we were going without a light made me strain every nerve for something ahead.

it was about midnight that i thought i saw a light ahead. i called benson and asked him to look, for my eyes were raw from the salt spume and want of rest. the fellow saw nothing, and we stood together gazing into the blackness beyond the jib-boom end. then i suddenly made out a green light close aboard and to port, and i knew we were upon a vessel hove to in the storm.

we had been running with the wind drawing more and more upon the starboard quarter and i saw that it would not do to luff any further and cross the stranger’s bow. besides, he might be going ahead some in spite of the sea which was now running heavily. there was not a second to lose, and i sprang to the wheel and rolled it up to pass his stern. almost before the lubber’s mark began to shift, the green light disappeared and the blackness ahead took form. right in front of us lay an immense ship{228} wallowing along under short canvas and not fifty fathoms distant.

not a word had come from forward. not a soul had seen her. before any one on the main-deck knew of her whereabouts we were grinding along her stern, our yard-arms hooking into the vang of her spankergaff and tearing that spar out of her while our mainbrace bumkin tore away a piece of her taffrail. hoarse yells came from her quarter-deck, and i heard distinctly a deep voice asking, “what ship is that?” but we went rushing onward without a word and disappeared. it was a close call. benson turned his face toward me and i tried to catch the look of his eye, but it was too dark.

“i reckon we’ll not hit anything more to-night,” i said. “i’m about tired out and will leave brown on deck to call me if there is any change.”

“all right,” he answered, coolly.

and i went below.