Da hice were height miles tick when we rounded da bight. Off ina distance, you could her er crack and grind, loike da jaws of a mistress gone mad. I summund all me strengt' man, but I knew I were no match. Wit da lads all in dorries until laden, I knew some were gone... but who... and why. No choices to be made, only enough to sound the warn, and hope.

Circle the bay ? How far ? If she blew, all might be lost. Hug tight and sove in... and prey. Then, as if by the grace of mighty