When the whole lot were in the fo’c’sle Raft gave them time to settle, then he went down amongst them revolver in pocket. They had lit a lamp, some had lit opium pipes and some were lighting them, and they lay about like creatures broken with cold and weariness. He nodded to them and left them to the opium that would drive the chill from their bones, then coming on deck stood beside the girl.
“They’ll be able to work the ship to-morrow,” said he, “told you they’d be all right; reckon they won’t mind changing that big chap I knocked out for us.”
“They don’t seem to be able to speak a word of English,” said she.
“Oh, I reckon I’ll do the steering till we get clear of this place,” said he, “they’ll handle the sails without knowing English and once we’re clear we have only to make north till we strike a Christian ship.”
“They seem so harmless,” she said, “and when I think of that fight—and of what I did—”
“You fought fine—damned fine,” said Raft, “damned fine.” He put his arm round her, not as a man puts his arm round a woman, but as a shipmate puts his arm round a shipmate.