NOVEMBER 13

For three days I haven’t been able to hold a pen to the page. Our ship has been so pitched and batted and rolled about, and so much water washed over her decks and down every opening, including into our cabin, bursting in with such force it lifted the sewing machine and deposited it on the settee where Sophy and I sat clutching each other while I said our prayers. Before we could heave‑to, one of the Germans, going aloft to shorten sail, was swept by a wave hard into the deckhouse, and from thence out to the rail, where he was nearly washed overboard, but Mr. Gilling got hold of him until the deck rolled the other way and they were both knocked back into the house. In the tumult the German’s arm was broken between the wrist and elbow, a bad break; the bone came through the skin. Mr. Gilling got him to the main cabin and we put him on the table, as there was water standing knee deep on the floor. B. set the arm – it took nearly an hour and the German was in agony throughout and probably swore fierce oaths – I’ll never know – but he trusted B. and when I gave him some coffee laced with laudanum from the medicine chest he drank it down and said “Danke” between gasps of pain, handing back the cup with his good hand.

After the arm was set, Mr. Head came in to help Mr. Gilling get the injured man back to his berth. Poor fellow, he was pale as a ghost, even his ruddy lips lost their color. And now we will be shorthanded, as he won’t be able to go aloft or even take the helm until he’s up and about. I learned his name, he is Mr. Lorenzen, and now I can tell him apart from the others, though I doubt I’ll see much of him. B. said he’s the best sailor of the four, which is a pity.

Once we had the proper heading there was nothing to do but hold on to something solidly attached to the ship and wait. I got Sophy in the bed with me and B. brought a board to fasten across the opening and there we lay, gazing up at the skylight, which appeared to be under the sea.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 594