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It was on the break--the moon shone on its crest and
tipped its foam with light. On it rushed beneath the inky sky, driven by
the awful squall behind it. Suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, I saw
the black shape of the whale-boat cast high into the air on the crest of
the breaking wave. Then--a shock of water, a wild rush of boiling foam,
and I was clinging for my life to the shroud, ay, swept straight out
from it like a flag in a gale.
We were pooped.
The wave passed. It seemed to me that I was under water for
minutes--really it was seconds. I looked forward. The blast had torn out
the great sail, and high in the air it was fluttering away to leeward
like a huge wounded bird. Then for a moment there was comparative calm,
and in it I heard Job's voice yelling wildly, "Come here to the boat."
Bewildered and half-drowned as I was, I had the sense to rush aft. I
felt the dhow sinking under me--she was full of water. Under her counter
the whale-boat was tossing furiously, and I saw the Arab Mahomed, who
had been steering, leap into her.


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