Martin, pale, his nose bleeding, walked unsteadily over to where Evans stood.
“We hit,” he said.
“We hit,” said Evans.
“How long I been out?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“Wait till the storm stops.”
Evans looked about him. The ship was securely wedged between the rocks. There did not seem to be much chance of being shaken loose. Evans shivered. He realized that he was very cold and that the wind was blowing through the two broken starboard windows.
He went into his cabin and put on his parka. His cabin, he noticed, was a tangled heap of clothes and papers and furniture.
He went back into the wheelhouse. “You stay here,” he said to the deckhand. “Don’t do anything. I’ll be below for a while.”