The schooner Azalea was having a lot of trouble, and the flagship Cavalier was making plucky efforts to collect her scattered and stormbeaten convoy about her.
Just about this time the Athlon began to go. She was carrying her whole mainsail, jib and foresail. Every now and then a shower of spray dashed over the weather bow and drenched the Commodore as he stood at the wheel. The yacht now and again careened to the puffs to such an extent as to take in green water over the lee coaming of the cockpit. We passed the Chispa as if she was at anchor, and soon began to forereach on the Anaconda. Under the pressure of the gale the masthead fairly buckled. It was a case of carrying on sail with a vengeance, but the Commodore had confidence in his craft, and Mr. Burgess and I had confidence in the Commodore, so we went below and drank to the health of the brave little ship. The steward forsook his kitchen and pantry. He was too nervous to stay anywhere except on deck. As Byron sings:
He was a man in years,
And long had voyaged through many a stormy sea,
And if he wept at length, they were not fears
That made his eyelids as a woman's be;
But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children—
Two things for drowning sailors quite bewild'ring.
The wind and sea increased. Lumbering schooners bound to the eastward
