He wondered what Evans was doing: probably trying to get control of the ship. When the wind was over a hundred miles an hour there was not much anyone could do but wait. That was what Evans would do. Stop the engines and wait.
The wind became more powerful every minute. The big wind was at its height. Great streams of wind-driven water battered the ship.
A large wave hit across their bow. Bervick stumbled and fell off the ladder. He rolled helplessly in the dark. There was a sudden snapping sound, louder than the wind. Then there was a crash. Bervick knew what had happened: the mast had been broken off. In the dark focs’le the dog began to whine.
The mast was gone.
Evans had seen it splinter as the wind-rushed waves went over the ship.
The man on watch crouched near the wheel. He was trying to hold it, to stop it from spinning. Martin lay unconscious on the deck. As the ship rolled, his limp body skidded back and forth.
Only eight minutes had passed since the williwaw struck. To Evans it seemed as if the wind had been shouting in his ears for hours.
His mind was working quickly, though. He tried to figure what would be the best way to go aground if he got control of the ship. The best thing would be to hit at an angle.
He looked at the approaching shore. Ten minutes, perhaps a little longer: that was all the time he had and the wind was not stopping.