“Well, try it,” said Sir Hyde, which was a great condescension for a man of his temperament to accept the advice of a subordinate. It took two hundred men to wear the ship, but when she was turned about, the sea began to run clear across the decks and she had no time to rise from one sea until another lashed into her. Some of the sails had been torn from the masts and the rest began to fly from the yards “through the gaskets like coachwhips.” “To think that the wind could have such force!” Archer shouted into the gale. “Go down and see what is the matter between decks,” ordered Sir Hyde in a lull. Archer crept below and a marine officer screamed, “We are sinking. The water is up to the bottom of my cot!” Archer yelled back, “As long as it is not over your mouth, you are well off.” He put all spare men to work at the pumps. The _Phoenix_ labored heavily, with scarcely any of her above water except the quarter-deck and that seldom. On returning, Archer found Sir Hyde lashed to a mast. He lashed himself alongside his commander and tried to hear what he was shouting. Afterward, Archer tried to describe this situation in his letter. “If I was to write forever, I could not give you an idea of it. A total darkness above and the sea running in Alps or Peaks of Teneriffe (Mountains is too common an idea); the wind roaring louder than thunder, the ship shaking her sides and groaning.” “Hold fast,” shouted Sir Hyde as a big wave crashed into the ship. “That was an ugly sea! We must lower the yards, Archer.” “If we attempt it, Sir, we shall lose them. I wish the mainmast was overboard without carrying anything else along with it.” Another mountainous wave swept the trembling ship. A crewman brought news from the pump room. Water was gaining on the weary pumpers. The ship was almost on her beam-ends. Archer called to Sir Hyde, “Shall we cut the mainmast away?” “Ay, as fast as you can,” said Sir Hyde. But just then a tremendous wave broke right on board, carried everything on deck away and filled the ship with water. The main and mizen masts went, the _Phoenix_ righted a little but was in the last struggle of sinking. As soon as they could shake their heads free of the water, Sir Hyde yelled, “We are gone at last, Archer. Foundered at sea! Farewell, and the Lord have mercy on us!” Archer felt sorry that he could swim, for he would struggle instinctively and it would take him a quarter hour longer to die than a man who could not. The quarter-deck was full of men praying for mercy. At that moment there was a great thump and a grinding under them. Archer screamed, “Sir, the ship is ashore. We may save ourselves yet!” Every stroke of the sea threatened dissolution of the ship’s frame. Every wave swept over her as she lay stern ashore. Sir Hyde cried out, “Keep to the quarter-deck, my lads. When she goes to pieces that is your best chance.”