The captain never left the poop--he and the mates taking their places, by turn, with the men at the helm; for the slightest error in steering might have caused the vessel to broach to, in which case nothing could have saved her.

Sheltered as was the caboose, it was found impossible to keep a fire alight, and officers and men, alike, had to content themselves with biscuit and draughts of ale.
The vessel rolled till her bulwarks were under water, and the yardarms at times dipped into the sea, and the men on deck were forced to lash themselves to some standing object, to retain their footing.

The captain occasionally made his way forward to the forecastle, where the men not on duty were huddled together, and spoke cheeringly to them, saying that the gale could not last much longer, and that as the Swan had weathered it so far, she would hold on to the end.
At the commencement of the storm a tremendous rain had fallen, but when this had ceased the sky had cleared up, and for the last two days the sun had shone out brightly, and not a cloud had been seen.
When morning broke on the fourth day a cry of dismay broke from the wearied men on deck, for ahead could be seen land, stretching away on both bows.

The news brought the crew from below, and they clustered on the forecastle, gazing in the direction of this new danger.
"We must try and get some sail on her mizzen, Standing," the captain said.

"Our only chance is to bring her head to wind." "We can try, Captain, but I fear that you will never bring her round." "It is our only chance," the captain repeated, and with a loud shout, he called for some hands to come aft.
The mizzen was shaken out and, as soon as the sheets were hauled aft, the helm was put down.