Another dizzy roll, sending us far to the side, interrupted the sentence. The shriek of the wind crept up a note. I could just make out, directly in front of us, the twisting, contorting water. Now it would pile up to a sharp peak and the jagged edges would be whipped off by the wind, driving against the front of the pilot house with the sharp rattle of machine-gun bullets. Now we would meet a huge wave head on and the boat would stagger back while the spray went flying high in the air. Now we went plunging into a trough with the sickening drop of an express elevator, while the foredeck completely disappeared from sight, buried under the seething, boiling eddies of water. Then we would labor to the surface in time to meet another onslaught. We were struck from the side and went reeling, careening over with our bottom half out of water and the runway on our under side completely submerged. I clutched the wheel tightly to keep from going smashing against the wall, while time and again Bob hung suspended, head and shoulders over me, for a long breathless instant, his body standing out in shadowy silhouette against the side windows. Then we righted ourselves, shipping a load of water that went sweeping, sliding over the deck and came spurting into the wheelhouse, under the doorsill. Now and then we would stand on our stern, bow completely out of water, like an angry bear on its haunches, and the next instant we would be slammed violently against the front of the house, stern boosted up, nose deeply buried, while I twirled the wheel vainly and prayed for a speedy recovery. “Must be wilder’n all-get-up outside the islands,” remarked Ed, as we went hurtling down into a giant hollow. “Must be,” returned Bob, eyes glued to the pane. “Good blow here in the straits.” We came out of the trough with a leap--high into the air we went. “Wish I had a good hot cup of coffee,” I said after a century or so. “Huh! There ain’t nothin’ stickin’ to that stove ’ceptin’ th’ polish. Chew of t’bacco help?” I could hear nothing from the kitchen; evidently there wasn’t anything left to fall from the shelves. We were struck sharply on the port side--another heavy impact from the front--and over we went. Over, over--I clutched the wheel tensely and tried to take a spoke. The water came spurting through the cracks of the door. It seemed as if Bob’s whole body was suspended over me, motionless. Some fragmentary recollection of a hanging sword came to me. An eternity we hung there, then slowly, slowly came back. Ed stirred. “Bad one.” It sounded more like a whistle than an articulation of words. I heard the trapdoor open and some one struggle through, then a long, lurid, wind-swept string of oaths. “An’ ef I ever gits off’n this here lame-halted critter I’m going to reetire fer th’ rest of my life in th’ mountings.” “Yeroop,” said I in a very mediocre imitation of a war whoop. I’m not very good on war whoops.