He
shook his head. He repeated:--"Never mind me. I must see it out--I must
see it out," but he consented to sit down for a moment on the skylight,
with his hard face turned unflinchingly to windward. The sea spat at
it--and stoical, it streamed with water as though he had been weeping.
On the weather side of the poop the watch, hanging on to the mizen
rigging and to one another, tried to exchange encouraging words.
Singleton, at the wheel, yelled out:--"Look out for yourselves!" His
voice reached them in a warning whisper. They were startled.
A big, foaming sea came out of the mist; it made for the ship, roaring
wildly, and in its rush it looked as mischievous and discomposing as
a madman with an axe. One or two, shouting, scrambled up the rigging;
most, with a convulsive catch of the breath, held on where they stood.
Singleton dug his knees under the wheel-box, and carefully eased the
helm to the headlong pitch of the ship, but without taking his eyes
off the coming wave. It towered close-to and high, like a wall of green
glass topped with snow. The ship rose to it as though she had soared on
wings, and for a moment rested poised upon the foaming crest as if she
had been a great sea-bird.
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