ests glanced past port and starboard flashing their white
heads. Pumps were freed. Braces were rove. The three topsails and
foresail were set. She spurted faster over the water, outpacing the
swift rush of waves. The menacing thunder of distanced seas rose behind
her--filled the air with the tremendous vibrations of its voice. And
devastated, battered, and wounded she drove foaming to the northward, as
though inspired by the courage of a high endeavour....

The forecastle was a place of damp desolation. They looked at their
dwelling with dismay. It was slimy, dripping; it hummed hollow with the
wind, and was strewn with shapeless wreckage like a half-tide cavern in
a rocky and exposed coast. Many had lost all they had in the world, but
most of the starboard watch had preserved their chests; thin streams of
water trickled out of them, however. The beds were soaked; the blankets
spread out and saved by some nail squashed under foot. They dragged wet
rags from evil-smelling corners, and wringing the water out, recognised
their property. Some smiled stiffly. Others looked round blank and mute.
There were cries of joy over old waistcoats, and groans of sorrow over
shapeless things found among the splinters of smashed bed boards. One
lamp was discovered jammed under the bowsprit. Charley whimpered a
little. Knowles stumped here and there, sniffing, examining dark places
for salvage. He poured dirty water out of a boot, and was concerned
to find the owner. Those who, overwhelmed by their losses, sat on the
forepeak hatch, remained elbows on knees, and, with a fist against each
cheek, disdained to look up. He pushed it under their noses. "Here's a
good boot. Yours?" They snarled, "No--get out." One snapped at him, "Take
it to hell out of this." He seemed surprised. "Why? It's a good boot,"
but remembering suddenly that he had lost every stitch of his clothing,
he dropped his find and began to swear. In the dim light cursing voices
clashed. A man came in and, dropping his arms, stood still, repeating
from the doorstep, "Here's a bloomin' old go! Here's a bloomin' old
go!" A few rooted anxiously in flooded chests for tobacco. They breathed
hard, clamoured with heads down. "Look at that Jack!"... "Here! Sam!
Here's my shore-going rig spoilt for ever." One blasphemed tearfully,
holding up a pair of dripping trousers. No one looked at him. The cat
came out from somewhere. He had an ovation. They snatched him from hand
to hand, caress