The clews of that sail came down as if so many giants had
hold of the tack and sheet. We set it, double-reefed, which made it but a
rag of a sail, and yet the ship felt it directly. We next tried the
fore-topsail, close-reefed, and this stood. It was well we did, for I feel
certain the ship was now in the ground-swell. That black hill seemed
ready to fall on our heads. We tried the mizen-topsail, but we found it
would not do, and we furled it again, not without great difficulty. Things
still looked serious, the land drawing nearer and nearer; and we tried to
get the mainsail, double-reefed, on the ship. Everybody mustered at the
tack and sheet, and we dragged down that bit of cloth as if it had been
muslin. The good ship now quivered like a horse that is over-ridden, but
in those liners everything is strong, and everything stood. I never saw
spray thrown from a ship's bows, as it was thrown from the Erie's that
night. We had a breathless quarter of an hour after the mainsail was set,
everybody looking to see what would go first. Every rope and bolt in the
craft was tried to the utmost, but all stood! At the most critical moment,
we caught a glimpse of a light in a house that was known to stand near the
Start; and the mate came among us, pointed it out, and said, if we
weathered _that_, we should go clear. After hearing this, my eyes were
never off that light, and glad was I to see it slowly drawing more astern,
and more under our lee.
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