Then Drew at last understood that there was that depth of water in the hold.
It came on to rain later, at first a few small drops out of the black sky, and then a driving sheet that seemed to sweep straight on and never to fall. One by one the passengers disappeared, and Captain March and Medbury, in oilskins, held the quarter-deck with the man at the wheel. Back and forth across the deck the captain walked, now climbing to windward, with his body bent forward and his legs far apart, now braced back, and taking short steps down the wet incline, and sometimes breaking into a little run and checking himself at the rail. Medbury stood for the most part at the windward corner of the house, going forward from time to time, but never for long. They rarely spoke.
Once Medbury went to the binnacle for a moment.
"Steady, man! steady!" he said. "You're yawing over half the card."
"Steady, sir," the sailor replied in an emotionless voice.
Captain March stopped his walk at the wheel, and looked aloft.
"Steer hard?" he asked good-naturedly. He had shouted, for the uproar was now too great for ordinary speech.
"Yes, sir," the man replied, and bent to the spokes.
"Guess I'll take a hold with you," shouted the captain, and stepped to his side; but Medbury touched his arm.
"I'll take it," he said; but the captain shook his head.