The ship creaked and groaned and shuddered as the wind, almost capsizing her, pressed the port side to the sea.
Duval got to his feet. Holding the table tightly, he went toward the companionway. Then, when he was as close as he could get without letting go of the table, he jumped.
For a second he wondered if he had broken anything. He had tripped over Smitty and had fallen on the deck. He flexed his arms and legs. Nothing seemed to be wrong. Smitty, he could hear, was praying loudly.
Carefully the Chief worked his way down the companionway and into the engine room.
Each assistant was holding onto one of the engines. They were frightened. Duval pointed to the engines and raised his eyebrows in question: were they all right? The two men nodded.
He worked his way, without falling, back to his cabin. Everything that could have been broken was broken. Clothes were scattered over the deck. He sat on his bunk.
For the first time he noticed a pain in his knee. He felt the kneecap. Waves of pain shook him. He wondered if it was cracked and if so what he should do.
A sudden lurch of the ship and he forgot about his knee. He went back to the engine room. His assistants were still standing by.
The oiler who had been sick lay quietly on the deck. He had passed out.
Duval stood close to his first assistant. “No ring yet?” he yelled, pointing to the telegraph.