The CGR 3070 was hove to, riding out a gale, when the hurricane struck her. For a sickening moment she lay down on her side until her masts dipped into the sea. The two men on her deck grabbed lifelines and hung on. The 3070 righted herself, rolled over the other way. Her mizzenmast carried away with a crash. The 3070 floundered on across the whooping Atlantic like a drunk on a merry-go-round.
Below, the cabin had suddenly become a welter of men, clothes, dishes, gear. Water pouring down her hatch had hurled the...
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