The wind whistled with piteous noise
among the ropes, and frequent showers of hail and sleet added to
our discomfort.
On the third day after leaving the Orkneys we sighted Fair Isle,
looming faintly through a mist of snow, far to starboard. With
difficulty we tacked to windward, for the northeast wind had driven
us considerably out of our course. Darkness came on at about three
o'clock in the afternoon in these latitudes, and we wanted to make
the harbour in daylight. But though the wind fell, the snow and
mist came on so thickly that we quite lost sight of the island, and
in our difficulty a terrible thing happened.
We were all hands on deck, and sailing close-hauled with a good
stretch of canvas set. I was at the helm, and the skipper standing
near me. Jerry and the mate were nailing some boards on the
companion hatch to keep out the snow from the cabin. Suddenly the
schooner gave a great lurch and fell off the wind. The mainsail
flapped wildly for a moment, and as we luffed again we went over
with a list that swung the boom back with such force that the ropes
that held it were slipped, and the spar struck the skipper a blow
upon the shoulder that sent him headlong overboard into the sea.
Jerry and the mate saw the accident, and while I still held the
tiller hard a-port, they at once got out the boat.
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