Sailhardy gestured me to bale. I snatched up a home-made pottery bowl containing our meal-the cooked mollymawk chicks floated pathetically in the rising waters I baled frantically. Then, as if stunned by its own disbursement of force the gale cut off.

" We're right behind the line of Inaccessible Island, and it' s making a kind of huge slipstream," said Sailhardy. The normal modulation of his speech was doubly startling in the quiet. "In a moment we'll catch it again! Get the water out of her, for the sake of all that is holy!"

Although it was still light where we were, it was dark half a mile away. We soared sickeningly and fell into the troughs of the swell.

Sailhardy looked grave. " We must run for Nightingale Island," he said. " Inaccessible is right into the teeth of the storm, and we've been blown too far ever to hope to regain

Tristan again."

" What if we miss Nightingale?" I said. The light was brindled by flowing spume ahead.

"If we keep afloat, we could be blown for a thousand miles before the gale eases," he replied. " There's five gallons of water, and a few mollymawk chicks to eat." He looked sombre. " If I miss the beach at Nightingale, I'm going to spill her over and drown us both. It's better that way."

From my knees as I baled I looked up into the lean face. I knew he meant it.

" Reef that foresail right down," he said tersely. " We may be lucky and get another lull. That's the way they come from the Drake Passage."

The rag of sail slatted in the trough of each wave and parachuted at the crest.