On the rocks the giant waves swirled and tumbled. A white mist rose from the shore, a mist of sea spray hiding the mountains behind the rocks. His stomach fluttered when he saw these rocks, black and sharp, formed in a volcanic time.
He wished Bervick was with him. He even wished that Martin was conscious. His mind raced to many things. He thought of a number of things. They came to him in quick succession, without reason.
Evans wondered if the fire was out in the galley range. If the electric generator was still working. What the ship’s dog, whom he hated, was doing. Whether Duval still had his bandage on his finger and if not what the possibilities of blood poisoning were. He wondered what blood poisoning was like. His mother had died in childbirth; he thought of that.
The deckhand caught at the wheel and held it a moment. Then he had to let go. They could not even lash it secure. The ropes would break.
But the fact that the deckhand had managed to stop the wheel, even for a moment, gave Evans some hope.
Outside the sea was mountainous. Gray waves pushing steeply skyward, made valleys so deep that he could not see sky through the windows.
Evans hopped across the deck and grabbed the wheel. With all his strength he struggled to hold it still. The deckhand helped him hold the wheel. With both of them straining they managed to control the ship.
Ahead of them the shore of Kulak came closer. A long reef of rock curved out into the sea. Inside this curve the sea was quieter. They were running toward the end of the reef. They would strike it on their port bow.
Evans decided quickly to get inside the reef. It was the only thing to do.
“Hard to port,” yelled Evans. The man helped push the wheel inch by inch to the left. Evans slipped but did not fall as a wave struck them. The deck was wet from the water which streamed in under the bulkheads.