The climax of the breeze seemed approaching at four o'clock; and, as Larmor said, "it couldn't be very much worse." The skipper was then hanging as he best could to the mizen rigging; Lewis had his arms tightly locked on the port side round the futtock shrouds, and was cowering to get clear of the scourging wind.

There was a wild shriek forward.
"Water, skipper!" Lewis looked up.

There it was, as high as the mast-head, compact as a wall, and charging with the level velocity of a horse regiment.

The doctor closed his eyes and thought, "Now for the grand secret." Then came the immense pressure--the convulsive straining, the failing light, the noise in the ears.

First the young man found himself crushed under some strangling incubus; then, with a shrieking gasp, he was in the upper air.