Captain MacWhirr interrupted himself, and Jukes, glancing on all sides, remained silent.

“Don’t you be put out by anything,” the Captain continued, mumbling rather fast.  “Keep her facing it.  They may say what they like, but the heaviest seas run with the wind.  Facing it—­always facing it—­that’s the way to get through.  You are a young sailor.  Face it.  That’s enough for any man.  Keep a cool head.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jukes, with a flutter of the heart.

In the next few seconds the Captain spoke to the engine-room and got an answer.

For some reason Jukes experienced an access of confidence, a sensation that came from outside like a warm breath, and made him feel equal to every demand.  The distant muttering of the darkness stole into his ears.  He noted it unmoved, out of that sudden belief in himself, as a man safe in a shirt of mail would watch a point.

The ship laboured without intermission amongst the black hills of water, paying with this hard tumbling the price of her life.  She rumbled in her depths, shaking a white plummet of steam into the night, and Jukes’ thought skimmed like a bird through the engine-room, where Mr. Rout—­good man—­was ready.  When the rumbling ceased it seemed to him that there was a pause of every sound, a dead pause in which Captain MacWhirr’s voice rang out startlingly.

“What’s that?  A puff of wind?”—­it spoke much louder than Jukes had ever heard it before—­“On the bow.  That’s right.  She may come out of it yet.”

The mutter of the winds drew near apace.  In the forefront could be distinguished a drowsy waking plaint passing on, and far off the growth of a multiple clamour, marching and expanding.  There was the throb as of many drums in it, a vicious rushing note, and like the chant of a tramping multitude.

Jukes could no longer see his captain distinctly.  The darkness was absolutely piling itself upon the ship.  At most he made out movements, a hint of elbows spread out, of a head thrown up.

Captain MacWhirr was trying to do up the top button of his oilskin coat with unwonted haste.  The hurricane, with its power to madden the seas, to sink ships, to uproot trees, to overturn strong walls and dash the very birds of the air to the ground, had found this taciturn man in its path, and, doing its utmost, had managed to wring out a few words.  Before the renewed wrath of winds swooped on his ship, Captain MacWhirr was moved to declare, in a tone of vexation, as it were:  “I wouldn’t like to lose her.”

He was spared that annoyance.

VI

On A bright sunshiny day, with the breeze chasing her smoke far ahead, the Nan-Shan came into Fu-chau.  Her arrival was at once noticed on shore, and the seamen in harbour said:  “Look!  Look at that steamer.  What’s that?  Siamese—­isn’t she?  Just look at her!”