Groping his way in darkness from his own cabin, he came to that of the officers of the ship.  Here all was quiet, as well as dark.  He next entered the galley and other compartments occupied by the artificers; here also all was dark, but not quiet, for several of the men were engaged in prayer, or repeating psalms in a full tone of voice, while others were protesting that if they should be fortunate enough to get once more ashore, no one should ever see them afloat again; but so loud was the creaking of the bulk-heads, the dashing of water, and the whistling noise 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 tophamper; 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.