out the gale in their present position was out of the question.

Two, three, four o'clock came, and went. Another half-hour would
witness the dawn and a further clearing of the weather. The barometer
was rapidly rising. The center of the cyclone had swept far ahead.
There was only left the aftermath of heavy seas and furious but
steadier wind.

Captain Ross entered the charthouse for the twentieth time.

He had aged many years in appearance. The smiling, confident, debonair
officer was changed into a stricken, mournful man. He had altered with
his ship. The _Sirdar_ and her master could hardly be recognized,
so cruel were the blows they had received.

"It is impossible to see a yard ahead," he confided to his second in
command. "I have never been so anxious before in my life. Thank God the
night is drawing to a close. Perhaps, when day breaks----"

His last words contained a prayer and a hope. Even as he spoke the ship
seemed to lift herself bodily with an unusual effort for a vessel
moving before the wind.

The next instant there was a horrible grinding crash forward. Each
person who did not chance to be holding fast to an upright was thrown
violently down. The deck was tilted to a dangerous angle and remained
there, whilst the heavy buffeting of the sea, now raging afresh at this
unlooked-for resistance, drowned the despairing yells raised by the
Lascars on duty.