He ransacked two lockers before he found
it. Several articles were tumbled in a heap on the floor in his haste,
and he did not trouble to pack them away again. He buckled Joey into
the garment, fastened his own oilskins, and rejoined the second officer
on the bridge. A glance showed him the dark wall of the mainsail
rising abaft the after funnel. The quarter-master at the wheel, having
recovered his wits, was keeping the ship's nose up to the wind by a
steady pressure to port. The gale was as fierce as ever. The second
officer shouted in Courtenay's ear:
"I am afraid, sir, the wind has shifted a point."
Courtenay looked at the compass. The ship was bearing exactly
northeast. He had hoped that the sails would enable her to shape due
north, at least; unquestionably some spiteful fiend was urging her
headlong to ruin. Had the wind but veered as much to the south, he
might have chanced the run through Concepcion Strait, or even weathered
Duke of York Island. He nodded to his junior, whose presence on the
bridge was a mere matter of form, owing to the powerless condition of
the ship and the impenetrable wrack of foam and mist that barred vision
ahead, and strode off on a tour of inspection.
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