The Corral, Volume [23], Number 2, March, 1933 Page: 5
This periodical is part of the collection entitled: Corral and was provided to The Portal to Texas History by the Hardin-Simmons University Library.
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THE CORRAL
stinging rain, hurtled by the increasing wind, was
beginning to fall.
The ordinary seaman heard eight bells through
the roar.
A few seconds late to his post, he found the
lookout he was to relieve, his head buried in his
upturned collar, peering ahead. He smiled at his
relief. "
"Goin' to be a stormy watch for you, Kid," he
was saying as he and the Kid exchanged posi-
tions. There on the bridge the roll of the ship
was intensified. Forward, over the sides of the
ship, came the catapulting wave that seemed to be
pounding into the first hatch, stretching its fingers
in at the cotton and grain cargo. Some of the
mates said ten thousand bales! And two hundred
thousand bushels of grain!
From the pilot house he heard the continuous
click of the telemotor, the electric steering de-
vice, and heard the nervous pace of the captain
and mate. Now and then they exchanged words.
They were worried.
ALL THE fury of the storm had broken at three
bells-nine-thirty. Lashings on a great pile
of dunnage had loosened, letting fly all the stack
to the heavens. The foredeck was littered with
splinters and the remnant boards, which flew like
shingles before the wind. The enveloping cloud,
dark and ominous, bore down, seeming to rest at
the tops of the tossing masts. Fine spray flew like
chaff. The creaking of the bridge and roar of the
tempest deafened the timid youngster who held to
his post boldly.
With one foot braced against the fore side of
the bridge and his numb hands grasping the var-
nished duck-board, he held on for dear life-what
there was ahead.
Below he witnessed a struggle of man and water.
The bos'n and a handful of able seamen were tug-
ging at ventilator covers, protecting the cargo that
must go dry. A plundering wave would sweep
over the bulwarks. All would duck to the steam-
pipe guards, holding there while the onrush of
white water would soak them, filling their sea
boots and wetting the inside of their oilskins.
One of the men too short to reach the bowl of
the ventilator-had stood on a short plank, pre-
cariously placed with one end on the hatch. The
board had broken, sending him spinning to the
rolling deck below. His casualty seemed to be a
broken ankle. Two others carried him aft.
The captain, obviously watching the drama be-
low, shifted the door on the weather side and called
the ordinary. He barely heard through the shriek-
ing of the wind in the rigging."Run down to the deck and help with the covers.
Don't come back until the bos'n sends you," he
directed.
It was the first time he had been called off
lookout. The steps of the lower bridgs were slip-
pery. Blinded by the rain and tossed back and
forth dizzily by the uneven roll of the ship, he
groped to the amidship deck. Here the wind was
not so strong. It was almost a relief to gain the
lower point. Holding onto the lifelines, freshly
strung during the past hour or so, he crept along
the dark passageway on the port side.
The needled rain-unmercifully cold-whipped
their half-protected faces. Furiously they worked
with fresh tarpaulins for the hatches. The bos'n
shouted orders against the tempest. His voice would
be drowned by the battering crash of a white-
crested wave. The four tugged fitfully before the
next wave bore down.
One of the men, known as Monty, did not duck
far enough under the hatch-side and was swept
in the deluge to the scuppers. Coughing and
sneezing, he picked himself up and crawled across
the deck.
"Can't do any more now. Better crawl into th'
shelter deck," the bos'n was heard to say.
Water was now running even with the decks. The
great boat seemed as helpless as a Gloucester
schooner. Her bulk groaned with each twist and
plunge. A rain of spray, stinging like shot, fell
over the deck and was hurled by the wind against
the seamen's bodies as they sought shelter behind
a certain storm door.
Inside, the bos'n held the door. The four of
them were silent save for audible heavy breath-
ing. The shriek seemed far away. It was a crucial
night for the "New Boston."
Forty minutes or more later, the four hapless
workmen emerged during a slight lull and broke
for the ladder. Their wet bodies were chilled.
They grasped the lifeline and clawed their way into
the saloon. The incandescents were flickering.
They soon went out entirely. , But it was warm
there. One man lay on the stuffed leather cushion
wrapped in a blanket. Someone mentioned that
he'd had a chill.
"Guess I'll go up and get the last word from the
old man," came from the bos'n as he hastened
back into the storm. Through the open door they
saw boiling clouds that spat lightning. They were
jostled about there in the saloon by a rebounding
lurch. It came from a tremendous wall of water
on the starboard. The straining ship held true,
poised, and then plunged headlong into the funnel
of another gigantic swell.
The bos'n, felled by the impact, clutched at the
hand-rail of the steps. He heard the clatter ofPage 5
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Simmons University. The Corral, Volume [23], Number 2, March, 1933, periodical, March 1933; Abilene, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth109431/m1/7/?q=%22%22~1: accessed July 16, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Hardin-Simmons University Library.