“We must trust her to go through it and come out on the other side. That's plain and straight. There's no room for Captain Wilson's storm-strategy here.”
“No, sir.”
“She will be smothered and swept again for hours,” mumbled the Captain. “There's not much left by this time above deck for the sea to take away—unless you or me.”
“Both, sir,” whispered Jukes, breathlessly.
“You are always meeting trouble half way, Jukes,” Captain MacWhirr remonstrated quaintly. “Though it's a fact that the second mate is no good. D'ye hear, Mr. Jukes? You would be left alone if. . . .”
Captain MacWhirr interrupted himself, and Jukes, glancing on all sides, remained silent.
“Don't you be put out by anything,” the Captain continued, mumbling rather fast. “Keep her facing it. They may say what they like, but the heaviest seas run with the wind. Facing it—always facing it—that's the way to get through. You are a young sailor. Face it. That's enough for any man. Keep a cool head.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jukes, with a flutter of the heart.
In the next few seconds the Captain spoke to the engine-room and got an answer.
For some reason Jukes experienced an access of confidence, a sensation that came from outside like a warm breath, and made him feel equal to every demand. The distant muttering of the darkness stole into his ears. He noted it unmoved, out of that sudden belief in himself, as a man safe in a shirt of mail would watch a point.