Every now and again a sea would crash upon the deck, and the wind, howling through the rigging, sounded like the yelling of a thousand fiends.

Hurrying on deck, I learn the worst.

A terrific sea is running, and the glass falling every hour.

One could scarcely discern, through the driving mist, the long low shore and white line of breakers that marked the entrance to Enzelli.

To land was out of the question.