It was a long voyage to Kerguelen, but on the whole a very happy one, and so accustomed by this time were our heroes to stormy winds and raging seas, that the wildest gales did not terrify them, for every one on board, from the captain downwards, had the greatest confidence in the sea-going qualities of the good old Walrus.
It was a long voyage to Kerguelen, but they weren’t there just yet; and long before its rugged rocks and hills hove in sight, they experienced a spell of such fearful weather as one seldom meets even in southern seas.
It was dark and wild and fearsome!
Dark, owing to the immensity of the cloud strata above and around, which brought the horizon almost close aboard—a mingled chaos of driving mist and moving water; wild with the terrible force of the wind, which was fully five and ninety miles an hour, and fearsome from the height of the foam-crested waves, and the black abysses into which the Walrus ever and anon plunged, remaining almost motionless for long seconds, while the seas made a clean breach over her.
Captain Mayne Brace himself confessed he had never seen the barometer sink lower.
Every stitch of sail that could be spared was at first taken in, and the ship was battened down; for when the first squall struck her, the Walrus had been in a beam wind, with no fires lit. Orders were now issued to get up steam with all speed, for the gale was from the E.N.E., and although the Walrus lay to, she was being driven rapidly out of her course.
Things reached a crisis when the chief engineer—a sturdy, business-looking Scot—made his way aft as best he could, and reported to the captain that something had gone wrong with the engines.
“We have broken down?” asked Mayne Brace, anxiously.
“I wouldn’t go so far as that, sir,” replied Mr. Watson, cautiously. “Something’s out of gear, and it will be quite impossible to put matters straight till the storm abates and we find ourselves on a level keel.”
“All right, Mr. Watson. You’ll do your best, I know, and so will we.”