Each rolling mountain whelmed them from view, and I would wait with sickening anxiety, fearing that they would never appear again.

Then, and with black suddenness, the boat would shoot clear through the foaming crest, bow pointed to the sky, and the whole length of her bottom showing, wet and dark, till she seemed on end.

There would be a fleeting glimpse of the three men flinging water in frantic haste, when she would topple over and fall into the yawning valley, bow down and showing her full inside length to the stern upreared almost directly above the bow.

Each time that she reappeared was a miracle.
The _Ghost_ suddenly changed her course, keeping away, and it came to me with a shock that Wolf Larsen was giving up the rescue as impossible.
Then I realized that he was preparing to heave to, and dropped to the deck to be in readiness.

We were now dead before the wind, the boat far away and abreast of us.