On men reprieved by its disdainful mercy, the immortal sea confers in its justice the full privilege of desired unrest. Through the perfect wisdom of its grace they are not permitted to meditate at ease upon the complicated and acrid savour of existence, lest they should remember and, perchance, regret the reward of a cup of inspiring bitterness, tasted so often, and so often withdrawn from before their stiffening but reluctant lips. They must without pause justify their life to the eternal pity that commands toil to be hard and unceasing, from sunrise to sunset, from sunset to sunrise: till the weary succession of nights and days tainted by the obstinate clamour of sages, demanding bliss and an empty heaven, is redeemed at last by the vast silence of pain and labour, by the dumb fear and the dumb courage of men obscure, forgetful, and enduring.
The master and Mr. Baker coming face to face stared for a moment, with the intense and amazed looks of men meeting unexpectedly after years of trouble. Their voices were gone, and they whispered desperately at one another. -- ‘Any one missing?’ asked Captain Allistoun. -- ‘No, All there.’ -- ‘Anybody hurt?’ -- ‘Only the second mate.’ -- ‘Iwill look after him directly. We're lucky.’ -- ‘Very,’articulated Mr. Baker, faintly. He gripped the rail and rolled bloodshot eyes. The little grey man made an effort to raise his voice above a dull mutter, and fixed his chief mate with a cold gaze, piercing like a dart.
-- ‘Get sail on the ship,’he said, speaking authoritatively, and with an inflexible snap of his thin lips. ‘Get sail on her as soon as you can. This is a fair wind. At once, sir -- Don't give the men time to feel themselves. They will get done up and stiff, and we will never....We must get her along now’...He reeled to a long heavy roll; the rail dipped into the glancing hissing water. He caught a shroud, swung helplessly against the mate....‘now we have a fair wind at last. -- Make -- sail.’ His head rolled from shoulder to shoulder.
His eyelids began to beat rapidly. ‘And the pumps -- pumps, Mr.
Baker.’ He peered as though the face within a foot of his eyes had been half a mile off. ‘Keep the men on the move to -- to get her along.’ he mumbled in a drowsy tone, like a man going off into a doze. He pulled himself together suddenly. ‘Mustn't stand. Won't do,’ he said with a painful attempt at a smile.
He let go his hold, and, propelled by the dip of the ship, ran aft unwillingly, with small steps, till he brought up against the binnacle stand. Hanging on there he looked up in an objectless manner at Singleton, who, unheeding him, watched anxiously the end of the jib-boom -- ‘Steering gear works all right?’ he asked. There was a noise in the old seaman's throat, as though the words had been rattling there together before they could come out. -- ‘Steers....like a little boat,’he said, at last, with hoarse tenderness, without giving the master as much as half a glance -- then, watchfully, spun the wheel down, steadied, flung it back again. Captain Allistoun tore himself away from the delight of leaning against the binnacle, and began to walk the poop, swaying and reeling to preserve his balance.....
