Page:Guy Boothby - The Beautiful White Devil.djvu/203

 hear the wind shrieking and yelling through the cordage like the chorus of a million devils.

It was impossible to hear oneself speak, and on the bridge almost impossible to retain one’s balance against the wind’s pressure. And, what was worse, the anger of the storm was increasing every moment.

I looked from Alie, who, enveloped in oilskins, was clinging to the starboard railing, then to the chief officer gazing anxiously aloft, and from both to the men struggling and straining at the wheel. Now, when a great wave, seemingly mountains high, dark as green jade, and topped with hissing foam, would come tearing towards us, obscuring half the horizon, I would shut my eyes and wait for it to engulf us. Then I would feel the noble little vessel meet it, rise on to its crest, and next moment be sinking again, down, down, down into the trough. Then once more I would draw breath and open my eyes, just in time to see another rise and meet her forrard, to break with a roar upon the fo'c's'le head, carrying away a dozen feet of bulwark and one of the boats as if both were built of so much paper.

For nearly five hours the hurricane continued with the same awful violence, and all that time I remained on the bridge with Alie, afraid to go below, lest, when the vessel went to pieces, as I infallibly believed she must, I should be separated from the woman I loved. It may be said that I proved myself a coward. I do not deny it. I will confess that I was more frightened then than, with the exception of one occasion to be hereafter narrated, I have ever been in my life. And yet, somehow, I am not without a feeling that, after all, mine should have been classed as of the magnificent order of