"It's so deuced dark one can't see a bally thing!" stammered Mr. Fitzhugh.
The night was pitch-dark, and after the brilliancy of the electric lights, to which their eyes had grown accustomed all evening, the surrounding wall of blackness seemed all the more opaque and impenetrable. Still, there was no wind, and the heat was suffocating. The uncanny silence continued. What could be seen of the sea was smooth, and oily, and illuminated in spots with green phosphorescent lights. A deep swell had set in. Rolling in great billows from the south, it caused the steamer to rock so violently that the women had to hold fast in order to keep their feet.
"Isn't this rolling horrible? Each minute I imagine the steamer is going to turn over!" exclaimed Mrs. Stuart, so alarmed that she hardly knew what she was saying.
"A heavy swell like this," explained the professor calmly, "either follows a gale or comes in advance of one. This sea is evidently the forerunner of a storm. The ladies had better go below before it gets any worse."
"I wouldn't think of going to bed," declared Mrs. Stuart emphatically. "Just think if we had to take to the boats and I were in my curl-papers."
Still no wind; only a weird moaning in the distance, which was distinctly audible amid the profound, mysterious silence. The lightning, now more frequent, revealed a sky terrifying in aspect. The suspense was nerve-racking to the stoutest hearted. The captain was heard shouting orders on the bridge. Officers and sailors hurried aft, and, driving the passengers below, closed and barricaded the storm doors. Gathered at the port-holes, their anxiety increasing each moment, the passengers waited and watched. Momentarily, the sea grew more convulsive. The waves increased perceptibly in size, and the ship rocked more violently. Nearer and nearer came that weird, depressing, wailing sound, like the moaning of all the unhappy souls that were ever drowned in the treacherous waters of the deep. Grace and her companions, now thoroughly alarmed, felt that something extraordinary was about to happen, and it did.
All at once it came. There was a blinding sheet of greenish flame, followed by a deafening report. Then hell itself broke loose. The hurricane was upon them. It came with a terrifying rush of air, which, screeching and howling, raced along at a velocity of a hundred miles an hour, accompanied by torrents of rain. Nothing could withstand the whirlwind's fearful force. Everything loose on deck was instantly swept away. The Marconi aerial wires, snapping like twine, were rendered useless in an instant, the life-boats strained at their lashings, the air was full of flying débris, the officers on the bridge held on for their lives. The sea, now rising rapidly and worked into a frenzy by the force of the wind, was nothing but a waste of seething foam. The huge steamer heeled over at the first shock, and great, green seas, capped with foam, began to break upon the decks. Inside, the stewards ran here and there, closing ports, while the passengers, scared out of their wits, were gathered in the big dining-saloon, gathering such comfort as they could by ceaseless questioning of the busy ship's officers.
"Is there any danger, Mr. Brown?" Grace asked the second officer, as he hurried past.
"No—no danger at all!" he laughed unconcernedly. "Just a little blow, that's all. No storm that was ever brewed could sink this ship."
Grace was reassured, and she breathed more freely, but Mrs. Stuart was skeptical.