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the God of Storms Who Cares Nothing for the Plans of Men HEN SourHerN Cross left W Cebuin the Philippines, bound for New York, the _ entire crew from cook to captain felt certain _that long before Christmas they would be quietly moored in the East river. Everything seemed to be in the ship’s favor. Four months was ample time for the trip, the gods being willing. Copra and manila comprised the cargo, with a little water ballast in the cellular bottom for stiffening. The well found and the crew was a good one. But windjammers are deceitful jades. All went well until the day before Christ- mas, and then The easterly wind freshened suddenly at sun- rise that day. By nightfall SouTHERN Cross was lying over to port under her three lower topgallantsails. At four bells, the or- der was given to furl these and the crojak. At eight bells, the mainsail was furled. “Now we have her snugged down,” said the captain, “but it is going to be a stormy Christ- mas.” “Yes, sir,” replied the mate. “The aneroid and mercurial barometers read close to 29.70 and they’re falling fast.” Cape Hatteras is the junction point of the gulf stream and the arctic cur- rent, and both the sea and the wind seem to go mad within a radius of 200 miles of the Diamond shoal light vessel. The Seas resemble black hills of racing water surmounted with crests of granite. . The wind was now howling and screeching into a 50-mile gale. Accord- ingly the upper topsails and foresail were furled to prevent their being blown away. This left the ship under three lower topsails and two staysails, quite enough for such a night. A glance at the barometer showed it registering 29.40. It had dropped 0.3 inch in an hour. A Cape Hatteras gale was upon us. ‘There was no time to lose. ship was ~ “Bang!”, there was a monster! The lee rail dived clear under. Tons of water rushed up’ and down from the fore hatch to the mizzenmast, then from weather rail to lee scuppers. Down she plunged to windward, rising just in time to dodge the next mountain. Was it dark? No darker than when one shuts his eyes in a cellar. If there had been ten moons behind the scud it would still have been: dark. The only glimpse of. light came when an extra heavy sea fell a trifle short of the weather rail and burst its pent-up power on the ship’s iron sides, and the fume and froth in the. boiling cataract lashed itself into white fury, causing a momentary glare. There was no room for Christmas sentiment on board SouTHERN Cross. Midnight and the relief of the watch brought few words. Hove to on the starboard tack, first falling off the wind into the trough and then wallowing back a little closer to the gale, the ship fought out the gale. ‘The weather leeches: of the sails shivered as she dived. Had the bow- sprit broken off short and the royal and topgallant masts fallen about our ears, no one. would have been surprised. Motion! Motion! How could the ship stand it? God help the man who had to make his way along that deck before daylight! In such inky darkness, the onslaught of the seas would deceive an albatross. Again and again we felt her 23 By Captain George S. Laing A wave filled her up She hesitated and stood stock still for half a_ second. Then 120 tons of salt water rushed over the lee rail and .out at the gaping ports and scuppers. Down she would fall again to windward. The. grave- yard watch, on duty from midnight to 4:00 a. m., had gone, and the light of day was eagerly anticipated. Side lights and galley fire were hopelessly extin- guished. Some of the running gear was tearing itself to preces. Litt and halyard blocks hammered away against the stand- ing wire rigging and masts. Two men were required at the wheel, one to windward and one to. leeward; even then _ she_threat- ened to throw them both over- board. The cap- tain had been un- der the mizzen weather -cloth all night, conferring now and then with the mate in charge of the watch. At the bottom of the companion stairs lay the mate who was off watch, in his reefer jacket and gum boots, sleeping with one eye open. The wheel was relieved every two hours. The vessel was continually awash. In temporary lulls a rush was made from the forecastle to poop deck or vice versa. No lookout man could stay on the forecastle head, and it would have been murder to ask one to attempt it. Spray flew high in the air, as the granite toppers pounded the iron bulwarks. Noise could not describe the incessant roar of the tempest. With the dawn the squalls became less violent. -A short life line was stretched from taffrail to the break of the poop to allow the wet and silent watchers to steady themselves as they attempted a little exercise for their be- numbed limbs. The hatch covers looked soft, for most of the dressing had come out with water friction. Quarter pipe plugs were all gone, a lee port had dropped off, a dozen ropes that were shiver and quake. to the pin rails.