portion of space which previously had been occupied by the air.

Of course, our canvas had gone long before. But Captain Oudouse had on
the Petite Jeanne something I had never before seen on a South Sea
schooner--a sea anchor. It was a conical canvas bag, the mouth of
which was kept open by a huge loop of iron. The sea anchor was bridled
something like a kite, so that it bit into the water as a kite bites
into the air, but with a difference. 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 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 was 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. But that lasted only for a
moment. Destruction was upon us.