lovely was that first evening, and as they sat in a group together upon deck, the little girls remarked that they did not think that the sea was anything like as terrible as they had expected, and that they did not feel the least sea-sick. Their father smiled: ‘Wait a little, my dears; there is an old proverb, “Don’t halloo until you are out of the wood.”’
The next day was still perfectly calm; and when, towards evening, the children were told that they were now fairly getting into the Bay of Biscay, they could scarcely believe the intelligence.
‘Why, one would think, Maud,’ her father said, ‘that you were disappointed at its being calm, and that you really wanted a storm.’
‘Oh, papa, I do think it would be great fun; it would be so curious not to be able to walk about, and to see everything rolling and tumbling. Don’t you think so, boys?’
‘Yes, I think so, Maud; great fun,’ Charley said.
‘Well, young people,’ the captain, who had been standing by watching the sun, now fast nearing the horizon, and who had overheard their remarks, said, ‘if it is any satisfaction to you, I can tell you that you are very likely to have your wish gratified. But I question if you will like it as much as you expect.’
‘Ah, you expect wind, Captain Trevor?’ Mr. Hardy said. ‘I have been thinking myself that the almost oppressive stillness of to-day, and the look of the sunset, and these black clouds banking up in the south-west, meant a change. What does the glass say?’
‘It is falling very rapidly,’ the captain answered. ‘We are in for a sou’-wester, and a stiff one too, or I am mistaken.’
Now that it appeared likely that their wishes were about to be gratified, the young Hardys did not seem so pleased as they had expected, although Charley still declared manfully that he was quite in earnest, and that he did wish to see a real storm at sea.
As the sun set, the party still leaned against the bulwarks watching it, and the great bank of clouds, which seemed every moment to be rising higher and higher. There was still nearly a dead calm around them, and the heavy beat of the paddles, as they lashed the water into foam, and the dull thud of the engine, were the only sounds that broke the stillness. Now and then, however, a short puff of wind ruffled the water, and then died away again.
‘Look at that great cloud, papa,’ Hubert said; ‘it almost looks as if it were alive.’
‘Yes, Hubert, it is very grand; and there is no doubt about there being wind there.’
The great cloud bank appeared to be in constant motion. Its shape was incessantly shifting and changing; now a great mass would roll upwards, now sink down again; now the whole body would seem to roll over and over upon itself; then small portions would break off from the mass, and sail off by themselves, getting thinner and thinner, and disappearing at last in the shape of fine streamers. Momentarily the whole of the heaving, swelling mass rose higher and higher. It was very grand, but it was a terrible grandeur; and the others were quite inclined to agree with Ethel, who shrank close to her father, and put her hand in his, saying, ‘I don’t like that cloud, papa; it frightens me.’
At this moment Mrs. Hardy, who had been down below arranging her cabin, came up to the group. ‘What a dark cloud, Frank; and how it moves! Are we going to have a storm, do you think?’
‘Well, Clara, I think that we are in for a gale; and if you will take my advice, you will go down at once while it is calm, and see that the trunks, and everything that can roll about, are securely fastened up. I will come down and help you. Boys, you had better go down and see that everything is snug in our cabin.’
In a quarter of an hour the necessary arrangements were completed, but even in that short time they could feel that a change was taking place. There was now a steady but decided rolling motion, and the young ones laughed as they found it difficult to walk steadily along the cabin.
Upon reaching the deck they saw that the smooth surface of the sea was broken up by a long swell, that the wind now came in short but sharp puffs, that the bank of clouds covered nearly half the sky, and that the detached scud was now flying overhead. The previous stillness was gone; and between the sudden gusts, the roar of the wind in the upper region could be heard. The sun had set now, and a pall of deep blackness seemed to hang from the cloud down to the sea; but at the line where cloud and water touched, a gleam of dim white light appeared.
In preparation for the coming storm, the sailors had put on thick waterproof coats. Many of the passengers had gone below, and those who remained had followed the sailors’ example, and had wrapped themselves up in mackintoshes.
Every moment the gusts increased in frequency and power, and the regular line of swell became broken up into confused white-headed waves. The white gleam under the dark cloud grew wider and broader, and at last, with a roar like that of a thousand wild beasts, the gale broke upon them. Just before this, Mr. Hardy had taken Mrs. Hardy and the girls below, promising the latter that they should come up later for a peep out, if they still wished it. Charley and Hubert were leaning against the bulwark when the gale struck them.
For a moment they were blinded and half choked by the force and fury of the spray and wind, and crouched down behind their shelter to recover themselves. Then, with a hearty laugh at their drenched appearance, they made their way to the mainmast, and then, holding on by the belaying pins, they were able to look fairly out on the gale. It was dark – so dark that they could scarcely see as far as the foremast. Around, the sea was white with foam; the wind blew so fiercely that they could scarcely hear each other’s voices, even when they shouted, and the steamer laboured heavily against the fast rising sea. Here Mr. Hardy joined them, and for some little time clung there, watching the increasing fury of the gale; then, drenched and almost confused by the strife of winds and water that they had been watching, they made their way, with great difficulty, down into the cabin.
Here the feeling of sea-sickness, which the excitement of the scene had kept off, increased rapidly; and they were glad to slip off their upper clothes, and to throw themselves upon their berths before the paroxysm of sickness came on.
When questioned afterwards as to the events of the next thirty-six hours, the young Hardys were all obliged to confess that that time was a sort of blank in their memory, – a sort of horrible nightmare, when one moment they seemed to be on their heads, and the next upon their feet, but never lying down in a comfortable position, when sometimes the top of the cabin seemed under their feet, sometimes the floor over their head. Then, for a change, everything would go round and round; the noise, too, the groaning and the thumping and the cracking, the thud of the waves and the thump of the paddles, and the general quivering, and shaking, and creaking, and bewilderment; – altogether it was a most unpleasant nightmare. They had all dim visions of Mr. Hardy coming in several times to see after them, and to give them a cup of tea, and to say something cheering to them; and all four had a distinct idea that they had many times wished themselves dead.
Upon the second morning after the storm began, it showed some signs of abating, and Mr. Hardy said to his sons, ‘Now, boys, make an effort and come upon deck; it’s no use lying there; the fresh air will do you good.’ Two dismal groans were the only response to this appeal.
‘Yes, I know that you both feel very bad, and that it is difficult to turn out; still it is worth making the effort, and you will be very glad of it afterwards. Come, jump up, else I shall empty the water-jug over you. There, you need not take much trouble with your dressing,’ he went on, as the boys, seeing that he was in earnest, turned out of their berths with a grievous moan. ‘Just hold on by something, and get your heads over the basin; I will empty the jugs on them. There, now you will feel better; slip on your clothes and come up.’
It was hard work
