Even as I looked I saw a human figure stagger across the deck, coming directly toward me; a wave flooded the vessel more or less, but when it rolled away, amid the churn of yeasty foam, the figure was still there, hanging to a rope.
Again he advanced, another wave broke, and this was so much heavier than the first that I gave a faint cry of alarm, confident that its tremendous force must have torn him loose from his moorings, and carried him into the midst of that tumbling madness beyond.
But no, there the resolute fellow stood still, and with one more charge he reached the spot where I awaited him.
It was Robbins.
Wet as he was, I threw my arms around my old friend and shipmate. The presence of a man, and such a man, served to arouse new life.
Even the ceaseless howl of the storm seemed to lose some of its terror when I found myself in contact with him, for the personality of a brave man may be a tower of strength in cases of emergency.
Only by shouting at the top of our voices could we make ourselves heard out there.
“This is awful,” I said.
“A bad job, Morgan.”
“There is little hope?”