mss142-vasilevShishmarev-i3-017

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reported to the captain. Knowing that all our sails were up,
and noting the unusually fast falling of the mercury in the
barometer, he ordered us to hasten their removal as he imme-
diately followed his informant to the quarterdeck, but he had
not gone half way up the ladder when the storm broke upon us
with a horrible ferocity. The roaring of the wind drowned out
the orders shouted by the lieutenant. No one knew what to
do, and all stood as if numb from terror, looking at the
raging elements. Luckily for us, the suit of sails that was
up at that time was the oldest, and they did not withstand
the sudden air pressure, otherwise we would inevitably have
lost the topmasts and perhaps even the masts themselves. One
mizzen, newly put up that day, resisted and pitched the
sloop windward [?], tipping it over on its side so that the
men had to hang onto the rigging.

Meanwhile, the storm increased by the hour, and turned
into a most horrible hurricane, which our captain called a
typhoon. The violence of the air was so great that at first
it prevented the waves from rising by tearing off their tops.
Although there was no rain, in a half hour all of us were
drenched. The foam torn off from the breaking waves flew in
the air like thick fog and penetrated one's body in no time.
It was impossible to face the wind. The pressure of the air
impeded free breathing and salty drops hit the eyes with such
strength they produced insufferable pain and swelling. The
mizzen still held up, and the sloop, battered by the waves,