I was very tired that evening, but stayed upon the poop watching the west on the lookout for the first signs of a squall. About ten o’clock there was sharp lightning to starboard. We were heading almost due south and our yards were sharp on the starboard tack. Suddenly the blackness grew denser to windward. A deep murmuring came over the inky sea. Then a puff of wind smote sharply. “Hard up, hard up that wheel,” I bawled, as the thrashing of the weather leech of the maintopsail warned me. Brown sprang to the wheel and with the man already there rolled it hard up. Then with a rush and droning roar through the rigging the pampero struck us. Luckily, we had steering-way, for if she had not answered her helm on the instant, the _Arrow_ would have been taken flat aback and dismasted, which would have meant a terrible ending for the desperate rascals. A dismasted ship in mid-ocean is usually a lost ship. The horrors of a boat cruise in overloaded small craft in that latitude meant the worst that could happen to the seafarer. With a heel to leeward that brought the water well up on her deck, the _Arrow_ paid off before the gale and tore her way through a sea which now shone ghastly and white with the phosphorescent foam. I looked aloft and saw that every yard-arm and truck held a ball of fire. The bellying lower topsails of the heaviest double nought canvas strained away like the wings of some giant bird in the night overhead. The roar of the wind rushing through the standing rigging and pouring out under the foot of the canvas made the cries of the men sound faint and distant, those on the yard-arms rolling up the lighter canvas bawling to those on deck in strained and frantic tones. None of the convicts had seen such weather before and the flare of the St. Elmo fires lent a ghastliness to the scene that might have made a sailor’s heart beat quicker. A man came close to me on the poop muttering curses and prayers and feeling about for something he probably did not want. A bright flash of lightning lit the scene, and I saw a crowd of men on the main-deck forward, huddled under the port side of the forward house. They seemed absolutely panic-stricken. However, we had some sailor-men aboard, and they worked manfully getting gaskets upon the yards and the gear cleared up after a fashion. Then I managed to get the yards squared and ran the ship dead before the blast, leaving a wake flashing and whitening a full hundred feet on either side.