But darkness and the fierce turmoil of waters
forced them to lay to in order to make certain of their position. As
they lay, pitching fearfully and many times almost on their beam ends
from the violence of the wind, a foaming mountain of water came
thundering down on the _White Star_, so that for a brief moment all
thought that she was gone; and almost as she shook herself free, just
such another tremendous wave struck the _Myrtle_, and rolled her over
like a walnut-shell skiff, a child's plaything. As the _White Star_ rose
on successive waves, her crew twice afterwards saw the _Myrtle_ heave up
her side for a second ere she went to the bottom, but of her seven
hands no man was ever seen again. Head-reaching into the wind, the
_White Star_ gradually made her perilous way, presently passing yet
another boat floating bottom up, her rigging trailing in the water
around her, but no bodies visible anywhere. Of the rest of the fleet, no
sign. Four and forty hours later the _White Star_ reached safety at
North Shields. Other boats that also headed for the open sea were even
longer in coming to port, but all, as they drew farther and farther from
land, found weather less terrible, a sea less dangerous, than that from
which by the skin of their teeth they had escaped.
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