“Sure thing,” he replied, and to the wheelsman he said, “Watch her now and don’t let there be any funny-business while we’re out there!” The man stared at us with astonishment on his his features. Taking a firm grip on the spokes, he nodded, “I’ll watch her, Skipper!”
With oilskins and rubber boots on, we went over the bows and clambered out along the footropes of the Morrissey’s lengthy bowsprit. Below our feet, the stem was shearing and ploughing the blue-green sea into a mass of glittering, thundering foam. From our perch, we could feel the vessel trembling thoughout her hard-driven hull. And when she topped a big comber, we hung like bats to the jack-stay and caught our breaths as she swooped down into the sea with the suds boiling up and through the hawse-pipes.
The Skipper grabbed the jib-stay and pulled himself up to stand on the extreme end of the bowsprit. I got up next and he held me aound the waist in order that I might have my two hands free to handle the camera. I got one snap, when the helmsman let her come-to a little. The Morrissey listed to port and laid her whole side down. “The crazy scut!” growled Harry as we lurched precariously to leeward. But animated with the recklessness of the seeker after something novel, I made two snaps as she careened. “Did you get it, Fred?” inquired Ross excitedly. “I sure did,” was my reply. “Then let’s get to hell out of this,” he said hurriedly, “afore we get run under!”
We came in over the bows, drenched in salt water as she smashed into a comber. Aft we came to meet an audience who had been watching our efforts – called by the wheelsman who considered that both of us had taken leave of our senses. However, I got the pictures I wanted and they came out fairly clear under the circumstances.