In the night the wind increased, and the anchor ran out with a rattle and a roar of cable. It was stifling in my cabin; I imprudently opened the porthole and an avalanche of water rushed in, threatening to drown me.
July 3rd.—The sea is the colour of ink, and I am ill, ill! ... Towards noon great black clouds came upon us rapidly and very soon the whole sky was covered, it was almost as dark as night; a heavy storm was coming on. The recruits are put down in the hold. The long menacing waves were advancing upon our ship like big mountains. Sounds of broken crockery are heard; two beautiful Chinese vases, standing on the side-board in the saloon, were thrown out on the floor and went to pieces.
Though we have six cows on board they cannot be milked for the rolling of the ship, and I had to drink my coffee without cream; it tasted like medicine to me.
July 4th.—A terrible night had followed. The ship rolled over fifty degrees from the perpendicular on each side. The situation was becoming more and more perilous. The shouts of the watch-officer mingled with the whistle of the quartermaster, and the shrieks of the siren were something awful. Hearing a commotion above, shouting and rushing footsteps, I thought we were going to sink. I dressed in a hurry and rushed to the staircase, where I met Sergy, who persuaded me to return to my cabin and lie down, but I felt it was quite useless to try to sleep.
July 5th.—I passed again the whole of the night in the corridor; Maria Michaelovna followed my example and came up with her pillow and coverlet, and slipped into the narrow space between me and my maid. Towards noon the direction of the wind changed, we are out of the cyclone centre.
July 6th, 7th.—The temperature all these days is something awful. We are dying of thirst and all our provision of ice on board has melted.
A bird which followed our boat all the way from Aden, rested this night on the main mast and was captured by the sailors who want to tame it.
CHAPTER XCVIII
COLOMBO
July 8th.—We enter the harbour of Colombo and moor pretty far away from the coast, to the great disappointment of the recruits. Scores of sampans with Singhalese rowers came to bring us ashore. We stopped again at the Grand Hôtel. I had tea in a nice shady corner of the verandah, which runs round the two sides of the hotel. The first half of it is lined with tables and easy-chairs and the other is nothing but a succession of shops, where Hindoo merchants are installed. We could see from here all that was going on in the street, and observe all passers to and fro. The feminine-looking Singhalese walk bareheaded, their long hair saturated in cocoa-oil, gathered in a knot chignon-fashion, and fastened by a huge tortoise-shell circle-comb. The Singhalese women wear only a short skirt and a short waist bodice between which several inches of brown skin are visible.