Samoa shrieked.

But there was no time to mourn; no hand could reach to save.
By the connecting stays, the mainmast carried over with it the foremast; when we instantly righted, and for the time were saved; my own royal Viking our saviour.
The first fury of the gale was gone.

But far to leeward was seen the even, white line of its onset, pawing the ocean into foam.

All round us, the sea boiled like ten thousand caldrons; and through eddy, wave, and surge, our almost water-logged craft waded heavily; every dead clash ringing hollow against her hull, like blows upon a coffin.
We floated a wreck.

With every pitch we lifted our dangling jib-boom into the air; and beating against the side, were the shattered fragments of the masts.