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Updated: July 9, 2025
"Then he must be crazy," said the Bo'sw'n, "but b'God he's got a beauty under him what's he doin' down here away?" "Ax me another," said Ponting. Raft stood with the others, watching the Gaston de Paris from whose funnels now the smoke was coming festooned on the wind, then he went below to shed his oilskins and smoke. She had ceased to interest him.
It was nothing, or they thought nothing of it, this battle for life with a monster, just the stowing of a top-gallant sail in dirty weather, and most likely when they got down the Bo'sw'n would call them farmers for being such a time over it. Meanwhile they clung idly for a moment, partly to rest and partly to look at something worth seeing.
The Albatross was running easy and the Bo'sw'n with others was taken up with a momentary curiosity over the great white yacht. No one knew her but Ponting, who had for several years acted as deck hand on some of the Mediterranean boats. "I know her," said he ranging up beside the others.
More was coming and through the sheeting rain and spindrift the voice of the Bo'sw'n was roaring to let go the fore top-gallant halyards. Next moment Raft was in the rigging followed by others. The sail had to be stowed.
He was rousted out by the voice of the Bo'sw'n calling for all hands on deck and slipping into his oilskins he came up, receiving a smack of sea in his face as he emerged from the fo'c'sle hatch. The wind had shifted and a black squall coming up from astern had hit the ship.
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