The last rag of sail was blown away, and then there was nothing left for us but to show our stern to the gale, and "scud under bare poles".
The great danger now was that we might be "pooped", which means that a huge wave might curl over our stern, fall with terrible fury on our deck, and sink us.
Many and many a good ship has gone down in this way; but we were mercifully spared.

As our safety depended very much on good steering, the captain himself took the wheel, and managed the ship so well, that we weathered the gale without damage, further than the loss of a few sails and light spars.

For two days the storm howled furiously, the sky and sea were like ink, with sheets of rain and foam driving through the air, and raging billows tossing our ship about like a cork.
During all this time my shipmates were quiet and grave, but active and full of energy, so that every order was at once obeyed without noise or confusion.

Every man watched the slightest motion of the captain.

We all felt that everything depended on him.
As for me, I gave up all hope of being saved.