The boatswain was pleasantly surprised--his impression being that
everybody on deck must have been washed away a long time ago. He asked
eagerly where the Captain was.
The second mate was lying low, like a malignant little animal under a
hedge.
"Captain? Gone overboard, after getting us into this mess." The mate,
too, for all he knew or cared. Another fool. Didn't matter. Everybody
was going by-and-by.
The boatswain crawled out again into the strength of the wind; not
because he much expected to find anybody, he said, but just to get away
from "that man." He crawled out as outcasts go to face an inclement
world. Hence his great joy at finding Jukes and the Captain. But what
was going on in the 'tween-deck was to him a minor matter by that time.
Besides, it was difficult to make yourself heard. But he managed to
convey the idea that the Chinaman had broken adrift together with their
boxes, and that he had come up on purpose to report this. As to the
hands, they were all right. Then, appeased, he subsided on the deck in
a sitting posture, hugging with his arms and legs the stand of the
engine-room telegraph--an iron casting as thick as a post. When that
went, why, he expected he would go, too. He gave no more thought to the
coolies.
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