The last puffs left us, and in the hushes, between the rumbles of the nearing thunder, the voices of the men aloft on the yards came to one’s ear as if they were right beside one instead of being hundreds of feet away and up in the air. That they were duly impressed by what was impending was patent from the earnestness with which they worked. Both watches toiled under both mates, and Captain West strolled the poop in his usual casual way, and gave no orders at all, save in low conversational tones, when Mr. Pike came upon the poop and conferred with him.
Miss West, having deserted the scene five minutes before, returned, a proper sea-woman, clad in oil-skins, sou’wester, and long sea-boots. She ordered me, quite peremptorily, to do the same. But I could not bring myself to leave the deck for fear of missing something, so I compromised by having Wada bring my storm-gear to me.
And then the wind came, smack out of the blackness, with the abruptness of thunder and accompanied by the most diabolical thunder. And with the rain and thunder came the blackness. It was tangible. It drove past us in the bellowing wind like so much stuff that one could feel. Blackness as well as wind impacted on us. There is no other way to describe it than by the old, ancient old, way of saying one could not see his hand before his face.
“Isn’t it splendid!” Miss West shouted into my ear, close beside me, as we clung to the railing of the break of the poop.
“Superb!” I shouted back, my lips to her ear, so that her hair tickled my face.
And, I know not why—it must have been spontaneous with both of us—in that shouting blackness of wind, as we clung to the rail to avoid being blown away, our hands went out to each other and my hand and hers gripped and pressed and then held mutually to the rail.
“Daughter of Herodias,” I commented grimly to myself; but my hand did not leave hers.
“What is happening?” I shouted in her ear.
“We’ve lost way,” came her answer. “I think we’re caught aback! The wheel’s up, but she could not steer!”
The Gabriel voice of the Samurai rang out. “Hard over?” was his mellow storm-call to the man at the wheel. “Hard over, sir,” came the helmsman’s reply, vague, cracked with strain, and smothered.