As the sky became darker with the squall, large flakes of snow fell upon the deck, and increased in number, until the _Pandora_ was enveloped in a blinding sheet of white. ‘It is useless to look at the compass,’ said Vernon Blythe, as he watched the helmsman trying to clear the face with his mitten. ‘Watch her head, man, and give her as few spokes as possible.’ The _Pandora’s_ steering-gear was of the latest invention, and a reliable quartermaster would have found no difficulty in guiding her on her course. But the man at the helm had been taught to steer by the compass only, and when the snow covered the glass of the binnacle and obscured the points, he was utterly at a loss how to proceed, and quite unfit, in consequence, for the responsible post he held. When, therefore, the ship ran off her course, he gave her so many spokes that she came flying to--the weather leeches shivered, the headsails filled, and she shipped an enormous sea, which thumped upon the deck right amidships, and ran in a boisterous torrent forward. Vernon Blythe saw the ship’s mad caperings, and shouted to the helmsman to put his helm up, before she was broadside on. But he was too late. The mischief was done. With the backward roll of the _Pandora_, as she lifted over the swells, the mighty stream of water flowed aft. The steward, unprepared for such a disaster, had not shipped the weather board, and the sea poured through the cabin passage, taking him clean off his legs, and drenching both himself and a roast turkey, which he was about pompously to place on the saloon table, with salt water. The sailors at the main, knowing what to expect when scudding with such a sea, jumped on the fiferail, and clung to the crossjack braces, thus saving themselves a ducking. But the assault was not yet over. Immediately succeeding the first sea, a second cataract of water leapt over at the main chains, and doubled the large amount which was already aboard. At this disaster, dismay and confusion reigned paramount in the saloon. Ladies and gentlemen left their luncheon alike, as the latter rushed about to see if they could render any serviceable assistance, and the former, with piteous little shrieks for help, lifted their petticoats, and jumped on the seats, to keep their feet out of the water. ‘We are going down!’ cried Mrs Vansittart. ‘Oh, John, I knew no good would come of our going to England.’ ‘Mother!’ screamed Alice Leyton, ‘the sea is filling the ship! Oh, where is Jack?’ ‘Don’t leave me, Godfrey,’ murmured Grace Vansittart, as she clung to her lover’s shoulders.