He made a trip of his own along the main-deck, scrambling upon the spars to avoid the occasional deluge which swept her amidship. The battened hatches were apparently withstanding the onslaughts of the waves. He could feel less weight in the wind. It was apparent that the crisis of the blow had passed. The waves were not so savage; their crests were not breaking. But just then the second mate rushed past, and Mayo overheard the report he gave the captain, who was pacing the lee alley: “The mizzenmast is getting more play, sir. I'm afraid it's raising the devil with the step and ke'lson.” “Rig extra stays and try her again for water,” ordered the master. Mayo, returning to the mizzen, found the entire crew grouped there. The mast was writhing and groaning in its deck collar, twisting its coat--the canvas covering at its foot where it entered the deck. The dusky faces were exhibiting much concern. They had flocked where the ship was dealing herself a wound; the sailor sixth sense of impending trouble had drawn them there. “Four of you hustle aloft and stand ready to make fast those stays!” commanded the first mate. “Rest of you make ready tackle!” shouted the second mate, following close on Mayo's heels. The negroes did not stir. They mumbled among themselves. “Step lively!” insisted the mate. “'Scuse us, but dat mast done goin' to tumble down,” ventured a man. “Aloft with you, I say!” Just then the schooner slatted herself on a great roller, and the starboard stays snapped, one after the other, like mammoth fiddle-strings. The mast reeled and there was an ominous sound below the deck. “She done put a hole into herself!” squealed a sailor. In the gloom their eyes were gleaming with the fires one beholds in the eyes of frightened cats. “Dere she comes!” shouted one of them. He pointed trembling finger. Over the coamings of the fore-hatch black water was bubbling. Yelping like animals, the sailors stampeded aft in a bunch, bowling over Mayo and the mates in their rush. “Stop 'em, captain!” bellowed the first mate, guessing their intent. He rose and ran after them. But fright gave them wings for their heels. They scampered over the roof of the after-house, and were on the quarter-deck before the skipper was out of the alley. They leaped into the yawl which was swung at the stern davits. “You renegades!” roared the master. “Come out of that boat!” With the two mates at his heels he rushed at them. They grabbed three struggling men by the legs and dragged them back. But the negroes wriggled loose, driven to frantic efforts by their panic. They threw themselves into the boat again. “Be men!” clamored Mayo, joining the forces of discipline. “There's a woman aboard here!” But the plea which might have affected an Anglo-Saxon did not prevail. Their knives were out--not for attack on their superiors, but to slash away the davit tackle. “Come on, boys! Throw 'em out!” shouted the master, leading the way into the yawl over the rail.