As we squared away the mainyard and the vessel got before the sea, the next consideration was to get the pumps going, and this we proceeded to do with a will, finding out as we did so that most of the stanchions on the starboard side were sprung and that the water was fast pouring into the hold. I am afraid that our saucy craft was not well fitted to cope with an emergency; there was a wooden pump brake to work one pump, but the double brake to work the two had for some time been used aloft as a spreader for the outriggers at the main topmast head. I soon nipped aloft, however, and got it down, and then we set to work in good earnest to see what fate had in store for us. We ran under close-reefed topsails and the sea was not much, now that we ran before it, but our wake in the dark blue of the ocean was now a sickly olive green. I doubt if so large a brew of coffee has ever been made before or since. The water came up from the pumps green and smelling of it, and it did not require much prescience to forecast that the greater part of the cargo was hopelessly spoiled. How long it took to clear the ship of water I do not remember; fortunately the weather became fine and enabled us to lay our course again--but the fact remained that in that eventful middle watch a great part of the starboard bulwarks had been washed away, and on the earliest opportunity as many men as could drive a nail and find a hammer to do it with, clapped on and nailed some planks to the stanchions for a makeshift, while the carpenter did his best to caulk the openings in the covering board through which the water had got below. But oh, what a mess it all was! Naturally as soon as there was time to talk about anything, the discussion arose as to who was responsible for it all, and equally certain it was that the second mate was to be blamed if possible. I say nothing against the time-honoured custom of cursing “that second mate,” who has been held responsible for everything that has gone wrong from the time of the Ark, but on this particular occasion I was not taking the blame. It commenced this way: Quoth the skipper, “William, there can be no doubt that this is all your fault, you could not possibly have pumped the ship out properly in your watch.” My reply to this was that I had left the starboard bulwarks intact when I went below, that they had been washed away in the middle watch, and that if the mate could not explain how the ship got half full of water, neither could I, especially as he had had her for four hours to himself. That reasoning appeared to be conclusive, for afterwards there was no endeavour made to pile the blame upon me.