There were several of the others whose self-restraint was demolished by this example; these likewise fled, amid the laughter of their companions, who broke up the meeting and went on deck.
The prospect of things there proved, beyond all doubt, that Britons never did, and never will, rule the waves.
The storm, which had been brewing for some time past, was gathering fresh strength every moment, and it became abundantly evident that the floating light would have her anchors and cables tested pretty severely before the gale was over.
About eight o'clock in the evening the wind shifted to east-south-east; and at ten it became what seamen term a hard gale, rendering it necessary to veer out about fifty additional fathoms of the hempen cable. The gale still increasing, the ship rolled and laboured excessively, and at midnight eighty fathoms more were veered out, while the sea continued to strike the vessel with a degree of force that no one had before experienced.
That night there was little rest on board the Pharos. Everyone who has been "at sea" knows what it is to lie in one's berth on a stormy night, with the planks of the deck only a few inches from one's nose, and the water swashing past the little port that always leaks; the seas striking against the ship; the heavy sprays falling on the decks; and the constant rattle and row of blocks, spars, and cordage overhead. But all this was as nothing compared with the state of things on board the floating light, for that vessel could not rise to the seas with the comparatively free motions of a ship, sailing either with or against the gale. She tugged and strained at her cable, as if with the fixed determination of breaking it, and she offered all the opposition of a fixed body to the seas.
Daylight, though ardently longed for, brought no relief. The gale continued with unabated violence. The sea struck so hard upon the vessel's bows that it rose in great quantities, or, as Ruby expressed it, in "green seas", which completely swept the deck as far aft as the quarter-deck, and not unfrequently went completely over the stern of the ship.
Those "green seas" fell at last so heavily on the skylights that all the glass was driven in, and the water poured down into the cabins, producing dire consternation in the minds of those below, who thought that the vessel was sinking.
"I'm drowned intirely," roared poor Ned O'Connor, as the first of those seas burst in and poured straight down on his hammock, which happened to be just beneath the skylight.
Ned sprang out on the deck, missed his footing, and was hurled with the next roll of the ship into the arms of the steward, who was passing through the place at the time.
Before any comments could be made the dead-lights were put on, and the cabins were involved in almost absolute darkness.