e of the wind, that it was hardly possible to distinguish
words or voices.

The master of the vessel accompanied Mr Stevenson, and, in one or two
instances, anxious and repeated enquiries were made by the workmen as to
the state of things on deck, to all of which he returned one
characteristic answer--"It can't blow long in this way, lads; we _must_
have better weather soon."

The next compartment in succession, moving forward, was that allotted to
the seamen of the ship. Here there was a characteristic difference in
the scene. Having reached the middle of the darksome berth without the
inmates being aware of the intrusion, the anxious engineer was somewhat
reassured and comforted to find that, although they talked of bad
weather and cross accidents of the sea, yet the conversation was carried
on in that tone and manner which bespoke ease and composure of mind.

"Well, lads," said Mr Stevenson, accosting the men, "what think you of
this state of things? Will the good ship weather it?"

"Nae fear o' her, sir," replied one confidently, "she's light and new;
it'll tak' a heavy sea to sink her."

"Ay," observed another, "and she's got little hold o' the water, good
ground-tackle, and no top-hamper; she'll weather anything, sir."

Having satisfied himself that all was right below, Mr Stevenson
returned aft and went on deck, where a sublime and awful sight awaited
him. The waves appeared to be what we hear sometimes termed "mountains
high." In reality they were perhaps about thirty feet of unbroken water
in height, their foaming crests being swept and torn by the furious
gale. All beyond the immediate neighbourhood of the ship was black and
chaotic.

Upon deck everything movable was out of sight, having either been stowed
away below previous to the gale, or washed overboard. Some parts of the
quarter bulwarks were damaged by the breach of the sea, and one of the
boats was broken, and half-full of water.

There was only one solitary individual on deck, placed there to watch
and give the alarm if the cable should give way, and this man was Ruby
Brand, who, having become tired of having nothing to do, had gone on
deck, as we have seen, and volunteered his services as watchman.

Ruby had no greatcoat on, no overall of any kind, but was simply dressed
in his ordinary jacket and trousers. He had thrust his cap into his
pocket in order to prevent it being blown away, and his brown locks were
streaming in the wind.