Then those on board seem to know the danger. Hurried shadows fly along the decks; up the shadows of the ladders hurry shadows of men. The flapping of the great sails ceases as one by one the willing hands draw them in.
But quicker than the hands of men can work sweeps the tempest.
Onwards it rushes, and terrible things come close behind; black darkness—towering waves that break in fury and fly aloft—the spume of the sea swept heavenwards—the great clouds wheeling in fury;—and in the centre of these flying, whirling, maddening shadows, rocks the shadow of the ship.
As the black darkness of the heavens encompasses all, the rush of shadowy storm sweeps through the Gate of Dread.
As he waits and looks and sees the cyclone whirling amongst the shadows in the Procession of the Dead Past, the
