that wind. It tore the clothes off our bodies. I say TORE THEM
OFF, and I mean it. I am not asking you to believe it. I am
merely telling something that I saw and felt. There are times
when I do not believe it myself. I went through it, and that is
enough. One could not face that wind and live. It was a monstrous
thing, and the most monstrous thing about it was that it
increased and continued to increase. Imagine countless millions
and billions of tons of sand. Imagine this sand tearing along at
ninety, a hundred, a hundred and twenty, or any other number of
miles per hour. Imagine, further, this sand to be invisible,
impalpable, yet to retain all the weight and density of sand. Do
all this, and you may get a vague inkling of what that wind was
like. Perhaps sand is not the right comparison. Consider it mud,
invisible, impalpable, but heavy as mud. Nay, it goes beyond
that. Consider every molecule of air to be a mud-bank in itself.
Then try to imagine the multitudinous impact of mud-banks--no, it
is beyond me. Language may be adequate to express the ordinary
conditions of life, but it cannot possibly express any of the
conditions of so enormous a blast of wind. It would have been
better had I stuck by my original intention of not attempting a
description.

I will say this much: The sea, which had risen at first, was
beaten down by that wind. More--it seemed as if the whole ocean
had been sucked up in the maw of the hurricane and hurled on
through that 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