Mad Jack waited some time for a lull, ere he gave an order so perilous to be executed.
For to furl this enormous sail, in such a gale, required at least fifty men on the yard; whose weight, superadded to that of the ponderous stick itself, still further jeopardised their lives.

But there was no prospect of a cessation of the gale, and the order was at last given.
At this time a hurricane of slanting sleet and hail was descending upon us; the rigging was coated with a thin glare of ice, formed within the hour.
"Aloft, main-yard-men! and all you main-top-men! and furl the main-sail!" cried Mad Jack.
I dashed down my hat, slipped out of my quilted jacket in an instant, kicked the shoes from my feet, and, with a crowd of others, sprang for the rigging.

Above the bulwarks (which in a frigate are so high as to afford much protection to those on deck) the gale was horrible.

The sheer force of the wind flattened us to the rigging as we ascended, and every hand seemed congealing to the icy shrouds by which we held.
"Up--up, my brave hearties!" shouted Mad Jack; and up we got, some way or other, all of us, and groped our way out on the yard-arms.
"Hold on, every mother's son!" cried an old quarter-gunner at my side.
He was bawling at the top of his compass; but in the gale, he seemed to be whispering; and I only heard him from his being right to windward of me.
But his hint was unnecessary; I dug my nails into the _jack-stays_, and swore that nothing but death should part me and them until I was able to turn round and look to windward.

As yet, this was impossible; I could scarcely hear the man to leeward at my elbow; the wind seemed to snatch the words from his mouth and fly away with them to the South Pole.
All this while the sail itself was flying about, sometimes catching over our heads, and threatening to tear us from the yard in spite of all our hugging.