o foot on the
windward side; his hair and beard were icicles; his spaniel cowered and
refused to move; and a splendid, strong horse, which was being driven
right in the teeth of the wind, suddenly put its nose to the ground, set
its forelegs wide apart, and refused to go on. Not far from the horse
was a great poplar, and this tree suddenly snapped like a stick of
macaroni; the horse started, whirled round, and galloped off with the
wind behind.

What must it have been at sea? Men durst not look to windward, for a
hard mass seemed to be thrust into nostrils and eyes, so that one was
forced to gasp and choke. As for the turmoil!--all Gravelotte, with half
a million men engaged, could not have made such a soul-quelling,
overmastering sound. Every capacity of sound, every possible discordant
vibration of the atmosphere was at work; and so, with bellow on bellow,
crash on crash, vast multitudinous shriek on shriek, that fateful
tempest went on.

Ferrier found that unless he could get under the lee of something or
other, he must soon be sheathed in a coat of ice that would prevent him
from stirring at all. Oddly enough, he found afterwards that the very
fate he dreaded had befallen several forlorn seamen: the icy missiles of
the storm froze them in; the wind did not chill them, it throttled
them, and they were found frozen rigid in various positions.

The mate came and whispered in Ferrier's ear (for shouting was useless),
"The skipper would like a word with you. We'll keep some sort of a
look-out, but it isn't much good at present. Come into our cabin."

Lewis was not sorry, for the waves began to take the vessel without
"noticing" her, as it were, just as a good hunter takes an easy ditch in
his stride. If one came perpendicularly upon her, it was easy to see
what must happen.

The skipper said, "I want you gentlemen to assist me. I'm ordered to
obey _you_, but I know this sea, and I tell you that I'm doubtful
whether I shall save the vessel. I can't keep her hove-to much longer,
for this simple reason as she'll bury herself and us. I've got two
hundred and forty-four miles to run home. Will you let me run her? If
so, I'll take her in under storm canvas. She's splendid before wind and
sea, and I can save her that way; if we stop as we are, I fear we drown.
I've seen so many years of it that I don't so much mind, but having you
is a terrible thing. Hishht, a sea's coming!--I can tell by the lull."

Then the two landsm