We gathered in the canvass as fast as we could; but, before we could get
through, and while I was lending a hand to furl the foresail, the squall
struck the brig. I call it a squall, but it was more like the tail of a
hurricane. Most of our canvass blew from the gaskets, the cloth going in
ribands. The foresail and fore-topsail we managed to save, but all our
light canvass went. I was still aloft when the brig broached-to. As she
came up to the wind, the fore-topmast went over to leeward, being carried
away at the cap. All the hamper came down, and began to thresh against the
larboard side of the lower rigging. Just at this instant, a sea seemed to
strike the brig under her bilge, and fairly throw her on her beam-ends.
All this appeared to me to be the work of only a minute. I had scrambled
to windward, to get out of the way of the wreck, and stood with one foot
on the upper side of the bitts, holding on, to steady myself, by some of
the running rigging. This was being in a very different attitude, but on
the precise spot, where, two or three hours before, I had called on the
Almighty to pour out his vials of wrath upon the vessel, myself, and all
she contained! At that fearful instant, conscience pricked me, and I felt
both shame and dread, at my recent language. It seemed to me as if I had
been heard, and that my impious prayers were about to be granted.
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