“I don't blame you for thinking that I am a fool, but I am not a coward,” she repeated.
“I'm sorry,” stammered the young man. “I forgot myself.”
“There is danger, isn't there?”
“I'm afraid the mast has pounded a bad hole in her. I must run forward. I must see if something can't be done.”
“I am going with you.” She followed him when he started away.
“You must stay aft. You can't get forward along that deck. Look at the waves breaking over her!”
“I am going with you,” she insisted. “Perhaps there is something that can be done. Perhaps I can help.”
The girl was stubborn, and he knew there was no time for argument.
Three times on their way forward he was obliged to hold her in the hook of his arm while he fought with the torrent that a wave launched upon the deck.
There was no doubt regarding the desperate plight of the schooner. She was noticeably down by the head, and black water was swashing forward of the break of the main-deck. The door of the galley was open, and the one-eyed cook was revealed sitting within beneath a swinging lantern. He held a cat under his arm.