“What,” asked the Chaplain, “is a williwaw?”
“Big northern storm. Kind of hurricane with a lot of snow. Just plain undiluted hell. They come and go real quick, but they do a lot of damage.”
“I hope you’re wrong,” the Major said fervently.
“So do I.” Duval hurried off toward his engine room. Chaplain O’Mahoney sat quietly on the bench. Hodges watched the big waves through the porthole.
Major Barkison said, “I think I’ll go to my cabin. If anybody wants me, tell them I’m there. I’m going to try to sleep a little.” This was bluff and he knew it sounded that way, but somehow he felt better saying it.
He opened the after door and stepped out on the stern. The ship was rocking violently and he had trouble keeping his footing. The wind was damp and cold. He waited for the ship to sink down between two waves, then, quickly, he ran along the deck toward the bow and his cabin.
A wall of gray water sprang up beside him, then in a moment it was gone and the ship was on the crest of a wave. He slipped on the sea-wet deck, but caught himself on the railing. As they sank down again into another sea-valley, he reached the door to his cabin. He went inside and slammed the door shut as spray splashed against it.
He stood for a moment in the wood-and-salt-smelling darkness. Great shudders shook him. Nerves, he thought. He switched on the light.
Water, he noticed, was trickling in through the porthole. He fastened it tight. More water was trickling under the door from the deck. He could do nothing about that.
Major Barkison took off his parka and lay down on his bunk. He was beginning to feel sick to his stomach. He hoped he would not become sick now.