At first we had thought that the cook had gone overboard with his galley, but he had just gone into the forecastle to turn in when the storm came down on us, so was he saved.
Suddenly I felt as though God had given me a tremendous thump on the heart. “Where’s Tamafanga?” I yelled.
The seas were still roaring and racing along, across the world, like triumphant mountains, bound for the south-east. Far overhead the stars were flashing and glittering in the wet, blue pools of the midnight sky.
“Tamafanga!” I yelled again.
“Tamafanga!” came like a husky echo from the bearded throats of the men just by me.
Then a voice said: “Tamafanga was asleep on the cook’s bench in the galley. He felt the cold, and lay down to sleep with some old sacks over him!”
The galley was miles astern, lost on those mountainous seas!
The huddled sailormen looked pale and haggard. The moon shone through a wrack of cloud, just for a moment, as they all turned their heads and gazed astern into that vast, angry, tomb-like night. Their eyes looked glassy with sorrow. It was the beautiful link between the white man and the brown man. There it shone, terribly sad on those haggard, ghastly faces.
“God Almighty!” I gasped, realising the truth.
All the crew answered my exclamation like an echo, it sounded reverential and full of sorrow.