But it grew with enormous rapidity. It seemed to have an uncommon knack of taking in nourishment, a terrifying appetite. I saw a house on the mountain side rise up and vanish, swallowed at a gulp. Professor Simpson got out his note-book and took notes. He described the cloud in his notebook as “bulbous, or bulging in form, in colour a bluish black, and unfolding centrifugally toward the edges.”
“In my opinion,” he said, “we are ourselves in some personal danger. I believe this is what is commonly called a tornado. Do you differ from me, Dr. Uls-water?”
I said: “Not there, professor, though it's late in the year for West-Indian hurricanes. The most pointed opinion I've got is that this deck is going to be a wet place in a minute.”
We'd hardly got to the cabin before the roar was audible, and grew till we could not hear ourselves. One minute more and the Violetta gave a jerk that threw us on the floor, Norah on Professor Simpson and Mrs. Mink on Norah. Between them they obscured him, on the whole, very well. I got up and looked through the port-hole, and saw only spray and splashing water. The ship was engaged in a sort of circular high-kicking dance, something between a waltz and a cancan. The professor remained obscure. Neither Mrs. Mink nor Norah saw their way clearly to getting off him, and for myself,—seeing that he kicked but vaguely, harmlessly,—I thought Mrs. Mink and Norah might as well suit themselves about it.
At the end of four minutes, perhaps five or ten, the tumult had subsided to a strong wind and heavy sea. I went on deck, and discovered that the Violetta had been torn loose from her anchor, and was drifting rapidly. The mist, however, was too thick to see far in any direction. By the point from which the tornado had come, I judged that we had been driven out of the roadstead and were moving perhaps west, or northwest, on the open sea. A broken spar hung from the short rigging and beat against the mast, and the deck was awash with water. I went back to the cabin, and mentioned my inferences. Mrs. Mink jumped up and said:
“Nonsense! It's impossible.”
“But, my dear Mrs. Mink,” said the professor, rising, “surely a situation that is in esse, in actual existence, cannot be described as 'impossible.' It is, as you mean to imply, however, most distressing.”
“Fiddlesticks! What shall we do?”
The professor reflected. On reflection, he said he thought it needed reflection. I thought we might as well remain where we were. He objected that, being in motion with the ship, it was not in our power to remain where we were, but, as regards our relations to the ship, I was perhaps right.
What a man!