The night would not be a very long one, but it would be pitchy dark. A heavy swell, too, was coming in from the south, that showed a storm had been raging far out in the broad Atlantic.
Again and again the captain went to the glass, tapping it uneasily. It fell, and fell, and fell.
A bit of sail was got ready, only a morsel to steady her, and the fore-hatches were battened down none too soon.
The storm came on, accompanied by blinding snow. Lady Alwyn could not sleep, though Meta sang and played to her.
Music below, sweet, soft, and plaintive; on deck the roaring, whistling, and howling of the wind through the cordage; orders being almost incessantly given to the man at the wheel, and the ship’s course thus altered a few points every minute. This was to avoid the clashing ice.
Bump, bump, bump, continually against smaller pieces that could not be avoided.
The ship was proceeding very slowly, and the captain was forward transmitting his orders aft through the trumpet, when suddenly there came a terrible crash, and the shouting and screaming after this was so dreadful that Lady Alwyn was fain to put her fingers in her ears.
The ship had been struck, her planks splintered and staved in right abaft the starboard bow.
It was “two watches to the pumps” now, while the mate and a few hands endeavoured to stem the leak by placing blankets overboard against the hole and over it. In vain; the wind was too high, the waves too merciless. With frozen fingers, the mate and his men had to desist.
Short though the night was, it was a terrible one to the ladies below. They had quite prepared to meet death. But oh! death like this is death in a dreadful form.