I Started To Put The Wheel
Down In Order To Heave To.
The Snark at the moment was rolling in
the trough.
She continued rolling in the trough. I put the spokes
down harder and harder. She never budged from the trough. (The
trough, gentle reader, is the most dangerous position all in which
to lay a vessel.) I put the wheel hard down, and still the Snark
rolled in the trough. Eight points was the nearest I could get her
to the wind. I had Roscoe and Bert come in on the main-sheet. The
Snark rolled on in the trough, now putting her rail under on one
side and now under on the other side.
Again the inconceivable and monstrous was showing its grizzly head.
It was grotesque, impossible. I refused to believe it. Under
double-reefed mainsail and single-reefed staysail the Snark refused
to heave to. We flattened the mainsail down. It did not alter the
Snark's course a tenth of a degree. We slacked the mainsail off
with no more result. We set a storm trysail on the mizzen, and took
in the mainsail. No change. The Snark roiled on in the trough.
That beautiful bow of hers refused to come up and face the wind.
Next we took in the reefed staysail. Thus, the only bit of canvas
left on her was the storm trysail on the mizzen. If anything would
bring her bow up to the wind, that would. Maybe you won't believe
me when I say it failed, but I do say it failed.
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