"What is that?" exclaimed Bickley, staring at something which
now I saw for the first time. It looked like a line of white
approaching through the gloom. With it came a hissing sound, and
although there was still no wind, the rigging began to moan
mysteriously like a thing in pain. A big drop of water also fell
from the sides into my pipe and put it out. Then one of the
sailors cried in a hoarse voice:

"Get down below, governors, unless you want to go out to sea!"

"Why?" inquired Bastin.

"Why? Becos the 'urricane is coming, that's all. Coming as
though the devil had kicked it out of 'ell."

Bastin seemed inclined to remonstrate at this sort of language,
but we pushed him down the companion and followed, propelling the
spaniel Tommy in front of us. Next moment I heard the sailors
battening the hatch with hurried blows, and when this was done to
their satisfaction, heard their feet also as they ran into
shelter.

Another instant and we were all lying in a heap on the cabin
floor with poor Tommy on top of us. The cyclone had struck the
ship! Above the wash of water and the screaming of the gale we
heard other mysterious sounds, which doubtless were caused by the
yards hitting the seas, for the yacht was lying on her side. I
thought that all was over, but presently there came a rending,
crashing noise. The masts, or one of them, had gone, and by
degrees we righted.