Pitching and bucking and jerking her big, heavy spars, the _Shark_ hung in irons, while the gale thundered through her slack sails and the breaking water all about roared and lashed and flung its wind-driven spray high into the volleying canvas. The big main-boom was lashing up and down in a terrifying manner, and the slackened sheet-ropes rattled and banged their big blocks as though to snatch the heavy iron travellers out by the roots. Bell was furious. "Missed stays, by the eternal!" he roared. "Who's the scrub that let that headsail go?" The uproar had brought Heldstrom on deck. There was no particular danger, beyond the straining to the gear one may always expect when a big, heavy sailing-vessel gets in irons and thrashes around in a sea-way. But this has always to be considered. "Oop here, you lubbers!" thundered the old Norwegian to the watch below. The hands were tumbling up when from forward there came a most appalling crash, and the next instant Bell's horrified eyes saw the bowsprit jerked suddenly upward. The jib-boom was springing like a whip, then snapping its martingale-stays it followed the bowsprit. A sickening, grinding, splintering roar followed. Heldstrom's great voice rose above the crash and clamour. "R'run forvards ... all hands...!" he roared. "Here's come der spars!" Hardly had he spoken when the foremast swayed for an instant, drunkenly, and then came roaring down, the foresail ballooning under it. Heldstrom's warning had not been needed. What was happening was plain to every man on deck. The vicious plunges of the old yacht had carried away the bob-stay, from the terrific strain of the jerking spars. The masts, left thus with no forward stay and no lateral strain from the sails to be shared by the shrouds, were doomed to destruction. Heldstrom blared out afresh. "Forvards! All hands r'run forvards...! Forvards, zir!" His voice was lost in the uproar. The foremast had fallen at a slight angle, which took it across the port rail, a little abaft the beam. Bell, as he watched its descent, had sprung to the starboard side. Olesen, the quartermaster at the wheel, stood fast. He was holding his helm hard up, nautical instinct telling him that, if he could only get the wind over the starboard bow, the wreckage would be carried clear of the hull. "Leave der v'veel!" bawled Heldstrom, for the mainmast was swaying with every plunge. Olesen, seeing his efforts of no avail, sprang clear. Even as he did so down came the mainmast, straight aft, its fall at first checked by the forward spread of the shrouds. It demolished everything on the quarter-deck, its upper fragment smashing from the lower across the stern.