Page:The Cannery Boat.pdf/21

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The Shukutsu lighthouse could be seen far to the right through a curtain of mist, grey as the sea itself. It shot its long silver-white ray over countless miles of sea.

A fine drizzling rain started to fall. The fishermen’s hands became as stiff as crabs’ claws with the cold and they had to keep slipping them in under their coats or blowing on them. Like greyish threads the rain fell on the opaque, slate-coloured sea. As the ship approached Wakkanai, however, the drizzle changed to pelting drops and the sea took on the appearance of a vast waving flag. Further on it broke up into small choppy waves. The wind howled against the masts ominously. A steady creaking as of rivets being loosened became audible. This ship of nearly three thousand tons shook as if seized with hiccoughs. She seemed to be lifted up by some gigantic force. Now she was floating in space, and now was sinking with a thud to her former position. The boys on board felt a sick, tickling sensation like that when a lift goes down too fast. Their faces were yellow, they retched over the side.

At times, through the round portholes dimmed with spray, they could glimpse the firm line of the snow-clad Sagahlien ranges. But soon this was hidden by the waves which rose like great frozen alps. These came nearer and nearer, dashing against the porthole, and spattering their spray. Then, washing down the glass, they receded and the ship shook herself like a peevish child. The thumping