"Where are we?" she demanded.
His stubby finger pointed to the dot.
"It's a long way to go yet," she sighed. "I hoped we were nearer."
As she spoke, the stern of the brig seemed to sink to a great depth, swing wide, then settle again, and there came a crash of falling seas upon the deck, and a wave went hissing across the house, falling in sloppy cascades before the window facing forward, which had not been battened. An instant later the captain was on deck.
The canvas screen about the taffrail was flapping loose from one of the poles; Medbury, with dripping oilskins, was at the wheel with one of the helmsmen, but the other was under the lee rail with his head down in his hands.
"That was a heavy one, sir," called Medbury as he bent to the spokes. He straightened up, panting, and nodded to the man who was down. "Don't think he's much hurt," he shouted.
Captain March walked over to the sailor, and, leaning over him, took him by the shoulder.
"What's the matter?" he demanded.
The man rose slowly to his feet, shaking himself.
"I struck my head against the bitts," he said slowly. "I guess it stunned me for a minute."