in the deck-house, which had windows looking in all directions, and
sat there for five hours. Very few words were spoken, and very
little fear was felt. We understood by intuition that if our crazy
engines failed at any moment to keep the ship's head to the sea, her
destruction would not occupy half-an-hour. It was all palpable.
There was nothing which the most experienced seaman could explain to
the merest novice. We hoped for the best, and there was no use in
speaking about the worst. Nor, indeed, was speech possible, unless
a human voice could have outshrieked the hurricane.

In this deck-house the strainings, sunderings, and groanings were
hardly audible, or rather were overpowered by a sound which, in
thirteen months' experience of the sea in all weathers, I have never
heard, and hope never to hear again, unless in a staunch ship, one
loud, awful, undying shriek, mingled with a prolonged relentless
hiss. No gathering strength, no languid fainting into momentary
lulls, but one protracted gigantic scream. And this was not the
whistle of wind through cordage, but the actual sound of air
travelling with tremendous velocity, carrying with it minute
particles of water. Nor was the sea running mountains high, for the
hurricane kept it down. Indeed during those fierce hours no sea was
visible, for the whole surface was caught up and carried furiously
into the air, like snow-drift on the prairies, sibilant, relentless.
There was profound quiet on deck, the little life which existed
being concentrated near the bow, where the captain was either lashed
to the foremast, or in shelter in the pilot-house. Never a soul
appeared on deck, the force of the hurricane being such that for
four hours any man would have been carried off his feet. Through
the swift strange evening our hopes rested on the engine, and amidst
the uproar and din, and drifting spray, and shocks of pitiless seas,