“That’s right. The hatches are pretty well battened down....” Evans’ voice trailed into silence.
A wave crashed over the bow and the whole ship shook. Martin slipped on the linoleum-covered deck; he caught himself before he fell. Evans was holding onto the wheel and did not lose his balance. The man at the wheel swung them back on course.
Through the open window blasts of wind whistled into the wheelhouse. Martin slammed the window shut. It was almost quiet with the window shut.
“You didn’t want that open, did you?”
“No. Go write up our position and the barometer reading in the logbook.”
Martin obeyed. When he had finished he stood by the telegraph.
“What do you think’s happening?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t got any idea. Where’s Bervick?”
“I think he went to the focs’le to get one of the men.”
Evans swore loudly. “Why did you let him go up there? He should have stayed here. Why didn’t he have sense to stay here?”