"Send some one you can trust to return," he continued. "Go then to the
lee of the promenade deck. You will find others there."
He did not stop to ask himself if solicitude for the unfortunates
wounded in the fight were of any avail. His mind was clear, the habit
of command strong in him. Not until the sea claimed him would he cease
to rule. The clank of pulleys, the cries of the sailors heaving at the
ropes, told him that the crew were at work. At last he was free to go
to the bridge.
He found the quarter-master in the chart-house, on his knees. When the
ship struck, the officer of the watch had been thrown headlong to port.
Recovering his feet before a tumbling sea could fling him overboard, he
hauled himself out of danger just in time to take part in the fray on
deck. He came back now, hurrying to join the captain. Courtenay,
standing in the shelter of the chart-house, was peering through the
flying scud to leeward. The sea was darker there than it had been for
hours. Around the ship the surface was milk-like with foam, but beyond
the area of the shoal there seemed to be a remote chance for a boat to
live.
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