They reached the crojick yard, which buckled, buckled Like a thin whalebone to the topsail's strain. They laid upon the yard and heaved and knuckled, Pounding the sail, which jangled and leapt again. It was quite hard with ice, its rope like chain, Its strength like seven devils; it shook the mast. They cursed and toiled and froze: a long time passed Two hours passed, then a dim lightening came. Those frozen ones upon the yard could see The mainsail and the foresail still the same, Still battling with the hands and blowing free, Rags tattered where the staysails used to be. The lower topsails stood; the ship's lee deck Seethed with four feet of water filled with wreck. An hour more went by; the Dauber lost All sense of hands and feet, all sense of all But of a wind that cut him to the ghost, And of a frozen fold he had to haul, Of heavens that fell and never ceased to fall. And ran in smoky snatches along the sea, Leaping from crest to wave-crest, yelling. He Lost sense of time; no bells went, but he felt Ages go over him. At last, at last They frapped the cringled crojick's icy pelt; In frozen bulge and bunt they made it fast. Then, scarcely live, they laid in to the mast. The Captain's speaking-trumpet gave a blare, "Make fast the topsail, Mister, while you're there." Some seamen cursed, but up they had to go-- Up to the topsail yard to spend an hour Stowing a topsail in a blinding snow, Which made the strongest man among them cower. More men came up, the fresh hands gave them power, They stowed the sail; then with a rattle of chain One half the crojick burst its bonds again. * * * * * They stowed the sail, frapping it round with rope, Leaving no surface for the wind, no fold, Then down the weather-shrouds, half dead, they grope; That struggle with the sail had made them old. They wondered if the crojick furl would hold. "Lucky," said one, "it didn't spring the spar." "Lucky," the Bosun said, "lucky! We are! She came within two shakes of turning top Or stripping all her shroud-screws, that first quiff. Now fish those wash-deck buckets out of the slop. Here's Dauber says he doesn't like Cape Stiff. This isn't wind, man, this is only a whiff. Hold on, all hands, hold on!" a sea, half seen, Paused, mounted, burst, and filled the main-deck green. The Dauber felt a mountain of water fall. It covered him deep, deep, he felt it fill, Over his head, the deck, the fife-rails, all, Quieting the ship, she trembled and lay still. Then with a rush and shatter and clanging shrill Over she went; he saw the water cream Over the bitts; he saw the half-deck stream.