cloth of sea. Suddenly the wind began to howl through the masts. The bottoms of the tarpaulins covering the cargo flapped against the deck.
“The rabbits are scampering! Look, the rabbits!” cried somebody in a loud voice as he ran along the starboard deck. The words were carried away on the strong wind and his voice was heard just as a meaningless shouting.
By now the crests of the triangular waves were flinging their white spray over the whole surface of the sea, for all the world like thousands of rabbits scampering over a vast plain. This was the herald of one of Kamchatka’s sudden storms. All at once the tide began to ebb quickly.
The ship started to swing round on herself. Kamchatka, which until now had been visible on the starboard side, suddenly appeared on the port side. There was great excitement among fishermen and sailors. Above their heads sounded an alarm whistle. They all stood looking up at the sky. The funnel shook and rattled. Maybe because they were standing directly under it, it seemed incredibly wide, like a great bath-tub, sloping away out backwards. The piercing note from the alarm whistle had something tragic in it. Warned by its prolonged blowing, the boats out fishing far from the main ship returned home through the storm.
The fishermen and sailors grouped together noisily near the trapdoor leading down to the dark engine-room. With every roll of the ship a beam of faint light filtered down slantingly from
