Fire Island / Being the Adventures of Uncertain Naturalists in an Unknown Track

“Do I think it would be wise to put on a life-belt, Mr Lane?”
“Yes.”
The words were shouted into the ear of one of the speakers, and yelled back as, like others about the vessel, they clung to the side, now to be raised high, now to be plunged down again, as the Planet , with only a rag or two of storm canvas set, rode over a huge wave and seemed as if turned into some new and ponderous kind of diving apparatus about to seek the wonders at the bottom of the eastern seas. But after her tremendous plunge right into a hollow she rose again, shook off the water which deluged the deck and staggered on.
Just then a dimly seen figure sidled up to the two speakers, held on tightly, and shouted—
“I say, Mr Rimmer, isn’t that man steering very wildly?”
“Who’s to steer tamely, sir, in a sea like this? Man has enough to do to keep from being washed overboard.”
The newcomer nodded and took a fresh grip of the top of the bulwark as a sea came over the bows again, and swept along the deck, leaving them breathless and panting, with the water streaming from oilskin and mackintosh.
“Don’t you want to put on a life-belt, too?” shouted the first speaker, as in the darkness of that terrible night his words seemed to be snatched away as soon as uttered.
“Yes; it would be safer; where are they?”
“Bah! Nonsense! Look down there. Suppose you had on a life-belt, what could you do in such a sea? You’d both be knocked to pieces or have the breath choked out of you in five minutes. Stick to the ship while you can. That’s good advice.”
“Is there any danger?” shouted the young man who was nearest the last speaker.