The water no longer runs in waves of regular onward motion, but leaps up in pyramids and peaks.

The wind swirls and strikes until wherever there is a chance for vibration or flutter, even in tightly furled sails, the fabric soon gives way.

I once saw a brig go drifting past us in a West Indies cyclone with everything furled and closely lashed with sea gaskets.

We were in company nearly at the height of the storm, when the center was only a few miles away.

There was a spot in the bunt of the foretopsail where the sail was not tightly stowed, and for several hours it had doubtless been fluttering under tremendous pressure.