Madden slammed the shutter viciously, and the tilt of a wave helped give
it a loud bang. Then he gave the jug a wrathful swing and smashed it
against the nearest stanchion.
"Smith'll have some sense when he can't get any more," he shouted in
Hogan's ear. Then after a moment, "Is there nobody else to take the
watch?"
"There's Dashalong, sir," bellowed Mike, "but he stood last night."
"How about you?" inquired Leonard.
"All roight." The Celt was about to turn for the high bridge at the
stern, when Madden stopped him.
"When was your last watch, Mike?"
"This afternoon, sor."
"When did Greer stand watch?"
"He's niver told anywan, sor; I think it must be a saycret."
"Get to your cabin and turn in," directed Madden. "I'll take it myself
till midnight, eight bells. Then send Greer."
Hogan saluted in the darkness and turned about for his cabin. Madden
began a careful journey aft toward the wheel.
He fought his way to the ladder and climbed up into the night, sometimes
clinging like a fly to the underside of the reeling wall, sometimes
going up a steep slant. Gusts of spume and foam whipped him all the way
up. Once on top of the wall, he clung to the inside rail and began
pulling himself carefully around toward the rear bridge. At this height
the full force of the wind almost tore him from his reeling anchorage.
Pages:
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51