“Blowing off all the time,” went on yelling the second.  With a sound as of a hundred scoured saucepans, the orifice of a ventilator spat upon his shoulder a sudden gush of salt water, and he volleyed a stream of curses upon all things on earth including his own soul, ripping and raving, and all the time attending to his business.  With a sharp clash of metal the ardent pale glare of the fire opened upon his bullet head, showing his spluttering lips, his insolent face, and with another clang closed like the white-hot wink of an iron eye.

“Where’s the blooming ship?  Can you tell me? blast my eyes!  Under water—­or what?  It’s coming down here in tons.  Are the condemned cowls gone to Hades?  Hey?  Don’t you know anything—­you jolly sailor-man you . . . ?”

Jukes, after a bewildered moment, had been helped by a roll to dart through; and as soon as his eyes took in the comparative vastness, peace and brilliance of the engine-room, the ship, setting her stern heavily in the water, sent him charging head down upon Mr. Rout.

The chief’s arm, long like a tentacle, and straightening as if worked by a spring, went out to meet him, and deflected his rush into a spin towards the speaking-tubes.  At the same time Mr. Rout repeated earnestly: 

“You’ve got to hurry up, whatever it is.”

Jukes yelled “Are you there, sir?” and listened.  Nothing.  Suddenly the roar of the wind fell straight into his ear, but presently a small voice shoved aside the shouting hurricane quietly.

“You, Jukes?—­Well?”

Jukes was ready to talk:  it was only time that seemed to be wanting.  It was easy enough to account for everything.  He could perfectly imagine the coolies battened down in the reeking ’tween-deck, lying sick and scared between the rows of chests.  Then one of these chests—­or perhaps several at once—­breaking loose in a roll, knocking out others, sides splitting, lids flying open, and all these clumsy Chinamen rising up in a body to save their property.  Afterwards every fling of the ship would hurl that tramping, yelling mob here and there, from side to side, in a whirl of smashed wood, torn clothing, rolling dollars.  A struggle once started, they would be unable to stop themselves.  Nothing could stop them now except main force.  It was a disaster.  He had seen it, and that was all he could say.  Some of them must be dead, he believed.  The rest would go on fighting. . . .

He sent up his words, tripping over each other, crowding the narrow tube.  They mounted as if into a silence of an enlightened comprehension dwelling alone up there with a storm.  And Jukes wanted to be dismissed from the face of that odious trouble intruding on the great need of the ship.

V

He waited.  Before his eyes the engines turned with slow labour, that in the moment of going off into a mad fling would stop dead at Mr. Rout’s shout, “Look out, Beale!” They paused in an intelligent immobility, stilled in mid-stroke, a heavy crank arrested on the cant, as if conscious of danger and the passage of time.  Then, with a “Now, then!” from the chief, and the sound of a breath expelled through clenched teeth, they would accomplish the interrupted revolution and begin another.