s tears.

The howling of the wind was benumbing; the very fury of sound enfeebled
while it terrified. The sailors, horror-stricken, crawled about the
deck, clinging to anything they thought most secure. It was impossible
to raise the head to look to windward. The eyelids were driven together,
and the face stung by the swift and biting spray. Men breathed this
atmosphere of salt and wind, and became sickened. Partridge felt that
orders were useless--the man at his elbow could not have heard them. The
vessel lay almost on her beam ends, with her helm up, stripped even of
the sails which had been furled upon the yards. Mortal hands could do
nothing for her.

By five o'clock in the morning the gale had reached its height. The
heavens showered out rain and lightnings--rain which the wind blew
away before it reached the ocean, lightnings which the ravenous and
mountainous waves swallowed before they could pierce the gloom. The ship
lay over on her side, held there by the madly rushing wind, which seemed
to flatten down the sea, cutting off the top of the waves, and breaking
them into fine white spray which covered the ocean like a thick
cloud, as high as the topmast heads. Each gust seemed unsurpassable in
intensity, but was succeeded, after a pause, that was not a lull but a
gasp, by one of more frantic violence. The barometer stood at 27:82. The
ship was a mere labouring, crazy wreck, that might sink at any moment.
At half-past three o'clock the barometer had fallen to 27:62. Save when
lighted by occasional flashes of sheet-lightning, which showed to the
cowed wretches their awe-stricken faces, this tragedy of the elements
was performed in a darkness which was almost palpable.

Suddenly the mercury rose to 29:90, and, with one awful shriek, the
wind dropped to a calm. The Lady Franklin had reached the centre of the
cyclone. Partridge, glancing to where the great body of drunken Blunt
rolled helplessly lashed to the wheel, felt a strange selfish joy thrill
him. If the ship survived the drunken captain would be dismissed, and
he, Partridge, the gallant, would reign in his stead. The schooner, no
longer steadied by the wind, was at the mercy of every sea. Volumes of
water poured over her. Presently she heeled over, for, with a triumphant
scream, the wind leapt on to her from a fresh quarter. Following its
usual course, the storm returned upon its track. The hurricane was about
to repeat itself from the north-west.

The sea