“Yes, we have it now!” cried the captain. “Stand fast there, you two by the wheel!”
“Ay, ay, sir!” came in a deep growl from Johannes, as he and Andrew grasped the spokes side by side.
“And now,” said the captain to his companions in a low voice, “you two had better go below.”
“No!” cried the doctor and Steve at one and the same moment.
“Very well. Get under shelter of the bulwarks, then. The fight has begun.”
He was right, for the storm was upon them with a wild, shrieking, hissing, deafening roar that nearly took Steve off his legs, and sent the doctor staggering forward to clutch at the nearest object that would offer a hold. In an instant the deck was white with a fine, powdery dust that bit and stung and filled the hair, penetrating to the skin. Voices were inaudible, but there was a weird chorus from the ropes and stays, and then a loud report as one of the storm sails burst into ribbons and was torn piecemeal out of the bolt ropes.
Steve turned to see what effect this had upon the captain, and to learn whether it meant danger; but the blinding snow hid him from sight, as well as the men at the wheel; and all he knew was that no one stirred save the doctor, who had crawled to the shelter of the bulwark, and crouched down by his side, to grasp his arm, and place his lips close to his ear and shout:
“What do you think of this?”
Steve made no answer, for the noise, the rush of the snow, the swaying motion of the ship, and the darkness combined to stun his senses. All he could do was to struggle for his breath, gasping, glad to get his hands over his mouth and nostrils as he realised how easily any one might be suffocated in such a storm.
The Hvalross was almost on her beam ends for a few minutes; then she righted and tore through the water, which was nearly smooth, the hurricane cutting off the tops of the waves, to mingle with the snow-dust in a spray which froze instantly, and beat against everything it encountered with painful violence, or covered the masts, sails, and ropes with a thick coating of ice.