deck, dancing, singing coon songs in the music-room, or grumbling at
the heat.

Things were ridiculous. What need was there for all this external fury?
Why should poor sailors be cast forth to instant death in such awful
manner? If she could only sleep and forget--if kind oblivion would blot
out the storm for a few blissful hours! But how could one sleep with
the consciousness of that watery giant thundering his summons upon the
iron plates a few inches away?

Then came the blurred picture of Captain Ross high up on the bridge,
peering into the moving blackness. How strange that there should be
hidden in the convolutions of a man's brain an intelligence that laid
bare the pretences of that ravenous demon without. Each of the ship's
officers, the commander more than the others, understood the why and
the wherefore of this blustering combination of wind and sea. Iris knew
the language of poker. Nature was putting up a huge bluff.

What was it the captain said in his little lecture? "When a ship meets
a cyclone north of the equator on a westerly course she nearly always
has the wind at first on the port side, but, owing to the revolution of
the gale, when she passes its center the wind is on the starboard
side."

Yes, that was right, as far as the first part was concerned. Evidently
they had not yet passed the central path. Oh, dear! She was so tired.
It demanded a physical effort to constantly shove away an unseen force
that tried to push you over. How funny that a big cloud should travel
up against the wind! And so, amidst confused wonderment, she lapsed
into an uneasy slumber, her last sentient thought being a quiet