We seemed always to be rowing in the wrong direction.

At each report we had to shift the boat's course somewhat, and pull toward the last point from which the gun seemed to sound.
With all this the wind was increasing rapidly to a gale, the sea was rising and breaking over the boat, the snow was blinding us with its ever-thickening sleet.

The darkness deepened and at length had grown so intense that nothing whatever could be seen--neither sea nor sky, not even the boat itself--yet we dared not stop; we had to row.

Our lives depended on our efforts.

We had to row, guided by the sound of the ship's gun, which the ever-varying wind incessantly changed, till our minds grew all confused, and we rowed blindly and mechanically.
So we labored for hours at the oars, and the storm continually increased, and the sea continually rose, while the snow fell thicker and the darkness grew intenser.