It was neither the time nor place to explain the vast difference, nor indeed could I see that it mattered in the least, if the storm possessed all the violent energies of one of those twisters that in August come whirling out of their nursery among the Windward Islands, ravage the West Indies, knock Galveston into splinters, and travel up the Mississippi Valley, to eventually sweep out to sea off the Newfoundland Banks, everywhere carrying death and destruction in their wake. Storms at sea are pretty much alike to the average mind, when they possess all the attributes of grim destruction.
“How does Diana stand it?” I shouted, as he staggered into my arms when the yacht made another sudden plunge.
“Good Heavens! I thought we were gone. Diana—she refuses to come out, though dressed. I left her moaning and praying. Perhaps you might give her a little encouragement.”
I did not like the task, still it seemed my duty, and I could not well refuse.
In fact, as matters stood, I really needed encouragement myself, for I feared the worst.
This was a turn with a vengeance—to have these friends come on board just the night before to enjoy a charming cruise among the glorious islands of the West Indies, and have, by the next morning, to solemnly assure them that I had faith to believe the yacht might weather the tempest, and by a rare bit of luck we might be saved.
Such a condition of affairs rather took the starch out of me—the change was so rapid.
I followed him to his stateroom—he had fastened the door back, and great disorder seemed to reign within, though this was nothing more than might have been expected under the circumstances.
Diana sprang up at sight of me.
She was indeed the picture of fear, so different from her usual coquettish self that I was amazed at the change.