"Matter! Why, it's what I said it was just now—'ell. The 'atches are battened down, it's as 'ot as a furnace, and the stink of the bilge water's enough to knock you down. There ain't no light except for a lantern, which don't give no more than a glim, and the air's that thick you could cut it into slabs and 'eave it overboard."
He was about to turn away when the girl's attire arrested his attention.
"You ain't going on deck?" he said.
"I am."
"Well, don't you go; you didn't ought to this weather."
"That's my affair, bos'n."
"It'll be the skipper's, too, when 'e catches sight of you," answered the man grimly. "Still, it ain't no business of mine, and if you wants to try and get drownded, I s'pose you must," with which philosophical reflection the bos'n proceeded on his way.
The storm had reached such a pitch of fury that the girl was half inclined to follow the bos'n's advice, but pride forbade, and, clinging to the handrail, she made her way towards the deck. Experienced sailor as she was, it proved no easy task, for the Hawk was rolling to such an extent that at times she seemed to lie on her beam-ends, and the girl had to cling with both hands to the rails to prevent herself from being flung violently against the bulkheads at each terrific lurch. However, she succeeded at last in reaching the deck, where the seas came thundering down with the force of battering-rams.
She paused here because the nearest hand-line had been torn away, and to have ventured further without anything to cling to would have been courting certain death. Yet it was very nearly as dangerous to remain where she was, since at any moment an extra large sea might swoop down, and, tearing her from the insecure handrail, sweep her overboard. And, once engulfed in that inferno of raging waters, rescue would be utterly impossible, even if anyone happened to witness the catastrophe. Therefore, watching her opportunity, she made a dash, reached the iron ladder leading up to the bridge, and clung to it while another huge wave flung itself upon the reeling ship. When it had passed she started to mount, clinging to the rails for dear life. As her head came level with the bridge she saw Calamity gripping an iron stanchion to steady himself, and apparently trying to peer ahead through the swirling spindrift. His back was towards the girl, and he did not even see her as she set foot on the sacred bridge and glanced doubtfully around.
She was still hesitating—none but a sailor realises the extraordinary sanctity of the bridge—when one of the quartermasters uttered a warning cry. Almost before the words had left his lips a terrific sea struck the Hawk on the port beam, and, leaping high into the air, discharged itself with a deafening roar upon the bridge. The iron stanchion to which the Captain had been clinging was wrenched from its socket, Calamity was swept off his feet, and, but for the fact that, in falling, he became wedged between the rails and the engine-room telegraph, would certainly have been carried overboard by the receding water. As it was, one of the two quartermasters was swept away and lost for ever in the raging sea, while the other lay stunned against the binnacle.