Nevertheless, all flustered and breathless as she was, she held Walker back when he would have left her in the shelter of her cabin.
“Do spare me one moment,” she pleaded. “When I have put on dry clothing, what am I to do? Where am I to go? I will do anything rather than remain alone.”
Walker jammed himself in the doorway to break the violence of the unceasing deluge of spray.
“Well, missie,” he said, “I’m examining the engines, Mistaw Tollemache is fi-wing up the donkey-boiler, an’ Doctaw Chwistobal is with Mistaw Boyle. You know whe-aw the captain is, so I weckon yo’ best place is the saloon.”
“Dr. Christobal said you were making a raft?”
“That’s wight. But when the ship got off, we tackled othaw jobs. She is ow-ah best waft.”
“And—do you think—we have any chance.”
“Nevah say ‘die,’ missie. Owt can happen at sea.”
She made a guess at the meaning of “owt.”
“May I not look after some of the injured men?”