One of the lamps had gone out, broken perhaps.  Rancorous, guttural cries burst out loudly on their ears, and a strange panting sound, the working of all these straining breasts.  A hard blow hit the side of the ship:  water fell above with a stunning shock, and in the forefront of the gloom, where the air was reddish and thick, Jukes saw a head bang the deck violently, two thick calves waving on high, muscular arms twined round a naked body, a yellow-face, open-mouthed and with a set wild stare, look up and slide away.  An empty chest clattered turning over; a man fell head first with a jump, as if lifted by a kick; and farther off, indistinct, others streamed like a mass of rolling stones down a bank, thumping the deck with their feet and flourishing their arms wildly.  The hatchway ladder was loaded with coolies swarming on it like bees on a branch.  They hung on the steps in a crawling, stirring cluster, beating madly with their fists the underside of the battened hatch, and the headlong rush of the water above was heard in the intervals of their yelling.  The ship heeled over more, and they began to drop off:  first one, then two, then all the rest went away together, falling straight off with a great cry.

Jukes was confounded.  The boatswain, with gruff anxiety, begged him, “Don’t you go in there, sir.”

The whole place seemed to twist upon itself, jumping incessantly the while; and when the ship rose to a sea Jukes fancied that all these men would be shot upon him in a body.  He backed out, swung the door to, and with trembling hands pushed at the bolt. . . .

As soon as his mate had gone Captain MacWhirr, left alone on the bridge, sidled and staggered as far as the wheelhouse.  Its door being hinged forward, he had to fight the gale for admittance, and when at last he managed to enter, it was with an instantaneous clatter and a bang, as though he had been fired through the wood.  He stood within, holding on to the handle.

The steering-gear leaked steam, and in the confined space the glass of the binnacle made a shiny oval of light in a thin white fog.  The wind howled, hummed, whistled, with sudden booming gusts that rattled the doors and shutters in the vicious patter of sprays.  Two coils of lead-line and a small canvas bag hung on a long lanyard, swung wide off, and came back clinging to the bulkheads.  The gratings underfoot were nearly afloat; with every sweeping blow of a sea, water squirted violently through the cracks all round the door, and the man at the helm had flung down his cap, his coat, and stood propped against the gear-casing in a striped cotton shirt open on his breast.  The little brass wheel in his hands had the appearance of a bright and fragile toy.  The cords of his neck stood hard and lean, a dark patch lay in the hollow of his throat, and his face was still and sunken as in death.

Captain MacWhirr wiped his eyes.  The sea that had nearly taken him overboard had, to his great annoyance, washed his sou’-wester hat off his bald head.  The fluffy, fair hair, soaked and darkened, resembled a mean skein of cotton threads festooned round his bare skull.  His face, glistening with sea-water, had been made crimson with the wind, with the sting of sprays.  He looked as though he had come off sweating from before a furnace.