The Spindrift righted a little. She split the wave tops and leaped across the hollows; and in the westerly the storm came rushing like a herd of charging elephants, tusked with lightning. They had overwhelmed the world; they had trampled flat the continents and left them awash; there remained only this last little bubble of life to stamp out—the Spindrift.
Still, through that uproar, Burke’s voice could be distinguished, shouting: “Get off the canvas! Fore upper-topsail first. Tail all the hands along the spilling lines.”
The swarming crew, how small they seemed along the deck! A sea flung a black arm over and tossed them like corks. Culver felt not even the strength of a child in his big hands.
They scrambled back to the line, patient as ants after a disaster to the column of workers.
