“Walk along the bulwarks!” I held up my hand in token that I heard and understood and meant to act. And as I did their bidding I noticed what indeed had long been apparent to idler eyes: the wind was not; we had lost our southeast trades; the doomed ship was rolling in a dead calm.
Rolling, rolling, rolling so that it seemed minutes before I dared to move an inch. Then I tried it on my hands and knees, but the scorched bulwarks burned me to the bone. And then I leapt up, desperate with the pain;
with a sound man’s vigor. “They’re ordinary seamen dressed up; I don’t believe they’ve a second mate’s certificate between them, and they’re frightened out of their souls.”
“Well, anyhow, the skipper isn’t that.”
“No; he’s drunk; he can shout straight, but you should hear him try to speak.”
I made