The sea-anchor remained just under the surface
of the ocean, in a perpendicular position. A long line, in turn,
connected it with the schooner. As a result, the Petite Jeanne
rode bow-on to the wind and to what little sea there was.
The situation really would have been favorable, had we not been
in the path of the storm. True, the wind itself tore our canvas
out of the gaskets, jerked out our topmasts, and made a raffle of
our running gear; but still we would have come through nicely had
we not been square in front of the advancing storm-center. That
was what fixed us. I was in a state of stunned, numbed, paralyzed
collapse from enduring the impact of the wind, and I think I was
just about ready to give up and die when the center smote us. The
blow we received was an absolute lull. There was not a breath of
air. The effect on one was sickening. Remember that for hours we
had been at terrific muscular tension, withstanding the awful
pressure of that wind. And then, suddenly, the pressure was
removed. I know that I felt as though I were about to expand, to
fly apart in all directions. It seemed as if every atom composing
my body was repelling every other atom, and was on the verge of
rushing off irresistibly into space.
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