The wind, although hot and without freshness, mounted in power, and as moon and stars vanished beyond low layers of scudding cloud Tempest prepared to fight it out. Even Bolitho found it an eerie experience. After heat and searing glare, the slow and patient changes of tack to use what little wind they had had at their bidding, this violent motion, the distorted roar and hiss of waves were unnatural. Their world had shrunk again, confined to familiar objects and handholds about the decks, while beyond the bulwarks the water seethed and boiled like a cauldron before fading into the surrounding darkness. He found plenty of time to pity the men working aloft on the quivering, thrumming yards and shrouds. Occasionally during a brief lull in the wind’s strange moaning he heard the topmen and their petty officers yelling to one another, high above the deck, voices distorted and wild, like demented spirits. Herrick lurched up the tilting quarterdeck and shouted, “All secure, sir!”
