I called Captain Oudouse’s attention to it， only to beinformed that he had watched it going down for severalhours. There was little to do， but that little he did verywell， considering the circumstances. He took off the lightsails， shortened right down to storm canvas， spread lifelines， and waited for the wind. His mistake lay in whathe did after the wind came. He hove to on the port tack，which was the right thing to do south of the Equator， if—and there was the rub—if one were not in the direct pathof the hurricane.
We were in the direct path. I could see that by thesteady increase of the wind and the equally steady fallof the barometer. I wanted him to turn and run withthe wind on the port quarter until the barometer ceasedfalling， and then to heave to. We argued till he wasreduced to hysteria， but budge he would not. The worstof it was that I could not get the rest of the pearl buyersto back me up. Who was I， anyway， to know more aboutthe sea and its ways than a properly qualified captain？ waswhat was in their minds， I knew.
Of course， the sea rose with the wind frightfully； andI shall never forget the first three seas the Petite Jeanneshipped. She had fallen off， as vessels do at times whenhove to， and the first sea made a clean breach. The lifelines were only for the strong and well， and little goodwere they even for them when the women and children，the bananas and cocoanuts， the pigs and trade boxes， thesick and the dying， were swept along in a solid， screeching，groaning mass.
The second sea filled the Petite Jeanne’s decks flush withthe rails； and， as her stern sank down and her bow tossedskyward， all the miserable dunnage of life and luggagepoured aft. It was a human torrent. They came headfirst， feet first， sidewise， rolling over and over， twisting，squirming， writhing， and crumpling up. Now and againone caught a grip on a stanchion or a rope； but the weightof the bodies behind tore such grips loose.
One man I noticed fetch up， head on and square on，with the starboard bitt. His head cracked like an egg. Isaw what was coming， sprang on top of the cabin， andfrom there into the mainsail itself. Ah Choon and oneof the Americans tried to follow me， but I was one jumpahead of them. The American was swept away and overthe stern like a piece of chaff. Ah Choon caught a spokeof the wheel， and swung in behind it. But a strappingRaratonga vahine （woman）—she must have weighed twohundred and fifty—brought up against him， and got anarm around his neck. He clutched the kanaka steersmanwith his other hand； and just at that moment the schoonerflung down to starboard.
The rush of bodies and sea that was coming alongthe port runway between the cabin and the rail turnedabruptly and poured to starboard. Away they went—vahine， Ah Choon， and steersman； and I swear I saw AhChoon grin at me with philosophic resignation as hecleared the rail and went under.
The third sea—the biggest of the three—did not do somuch damage. By the time it arrived nearly everybodywas in the rigging. On deck perhaps a dozen gasping， halfdrowned，and half-stunned wretches were rolling about orattempting to crawl into safety. They went by the board，as did the wreckage of the two remaining boats. The otherpearl buyers and myself， between seas， managed to get aboutfifteen women and children into the cabin， and batteneddown. Little good it did the poor creatures in the end.
Wind？ Out of all my experience I could not havebelieved it possible for the wind to blow as it did. Thereis no describing it. How can one describe a nightmare？ Itwas the same way with that wind. It tore the clothes offour bodies. I say tore them off， and I mean it. I am notasking you to believe it. I am merely telling somethingthat I saw and felt. There are times when I do not believeit myself. I went through it， and that is enough. One couldnot face that wind and live. It was a monstrous thing， andthe most monstrous thing about it was that it increasedand continued to increase.
Imagine countless millions and billions of tons of sand.
Imagine this sand tearing along at ninety， a hundred，a hundred and twenty， or any other number of milesper hour. Imagine， further， this sand to be invisible，impalpable， yet to retain all the weight and density ofsand. Do all this， and you may get a vague inkling of whatthat wind was like.
Perhaps sand is not the right comparison. Considerit mud， invisible， impalpable， but heavy as mud. Nay， itgoes beyond that. Consider every molecule of air to be amudbank in itself. Then try to imagine the multitudinousimpact of mudbanks. No； it is beyond me. Language maybe adequate to express the ordinary conditions of life，but it cannot possibly express any of the conditions ofso enormous a blast of wind. It would have been betterhad I stuck by my original intention of not attempting adescription.
I will say this much： The sea， which had risen at first，was beaten down by that wind. ’more： it seemed as ifthe whole ocean had been sucked up in the maw of thehurricane， and hurled on through that portion of spacewhich previously had been occupied by the air.
Of course， our canvas had gone long before. But CaptainOudouse had on the Petite Jeanne something I had neverbefore seen on a South Sea schooner—a sea anchor. It wasa conical canvas bag， the mouth of which was kept open bya huge loop of iron. The sea anchor was bridled somethinglike a kite， so that it bit into the water as a kite bites intothe air， but with a difference. The sea anchor remained justunder the surface of the ocean in a perpendicular position.
A long line， in turn， connected it with the schooner. As aresult， the Petite Jeanne rode bow on to the wind and towhat sea there was.