The San Francisco call., 1904-03-13

in sullen silence, climb into their OIL
skins. while the seas bang the weather
wall of the forcastle like shells from
heavy guns. :.
Eight beIlsArelieve the watch"
Aye, eight bells; but the watch has yet
to wait awhile, for no mortal man
could wade those flooded decks from
ford to aft. Sea after sea, green and
white, pour over the bulwarks like the
breaking of big dam.
Finally comes another lull. The ship
pauses as though to rest, while the
tons of water on deck shot out
through hawsepipe and scupper. Once
more the deck is visible, covered only
by the foam-rimmed sheets of ripping
water. The lee door of the forecastle
flies open, and one by one the men
shoot out, like bees from a hive, and
scurry aft, fairly throwing themselves
up the poop ladder.
All hands are aft-all but one. Old
Sam Harland. able seaman. fingers to
ill his pipe, as he invariably does, in
fair weather or foul. Creeping Sam
they call him. At last he crawls out,
shuts the forecastIe door and starts
aft.
Suddenly all hands shout and ges-
ticulate to him. He sees, but the
shouts are lost in the roar of the gale.
Slowly he waddles aft, unconscious of
his danger. Were he to look behind him
he would see coming up on the weather
bow a distant but fast approaching
wall of greenish gray. its white top
apparently licking the low hanging
clouds.
He does see at last, but too late.
The ship gives quick lurch, heave,
attempts to rise to the oncoming bill
lows, but fails. High up, level with
the foreysrd, towers the white crest.
For one breathless moment to those
aft it seems to hesitate, lifts, leans for
ward, then falls, crashing down on the
whole ford part of the ship. From
the rail top to rail top the main deck
fills in an instant, each mast the CEN
ter of a whirlpool of yeasty foam.
Then, as the ridge of the wave passes
under the ship, she lurches, rolls over
to windward into the hollow beyond,
dumping her deckload of seething wa
ter over her weather bulwarks into
the sea.
If you were to put dry pea into
an empty saucepan and then souse
bucket of water over it you would
understand what happened to Sam
Harland, able seaman. His shipmates
saw him struggling in the foam, saw
him slowly sucked toward the bull
warks, then shot across their top into
the reaux of the sea outside.
What they felt is not part of the
story; such accidents occur often, and
seamen are not prone to describe their
emotions. Man overheard. Sam
Harland, able seaman, lost at sea, Oc-.
tober s." Such notes are common in
logbooks. There were few of Sans
shipmates who had not seen this trag-
edy- enacted before. 1t was what fol-
lowed that was unusual.
Suddenly the mate gave a yell, audi
BILE even above the roar of the tenn
pest.
There he is. boys; away to wind
wardr'
They crowded together to the
weather rail. Sure enough, there ne
was, black speck far out in the white
froth, his face turned toward them.
Then he rose on the crest of wave,
and sank out of their sight into the
hollow beyond, only to reappear again,
mounting another oncoming billow.
Already he had thrown off his SOU
wester and oilskin coat and was
swimming. Hopelessly beyond all hu-
man aid he struggled still, while his
sl1iDmafes could only stand helpIessIv