On the lee side another man could be seen
stretched out as if stunned; only the washboard prevented him from going
over the side. It was the steward. We had to sling him up like a bale,
for he was paralysed with fright. He had rushed up out of the pantry
when he felt the ship go over, and had rolled down helplessly, clutching
a china mug. It was not broken. With difficulty we tore it away from
him, and when he saw it in our hands he was amazed. "Where did you get
that thing?" he kept on asking us in a trembling voice. His shirt was
blown to shreds; the ripped sleeves flapped like wings. Two men made him
fast, and, doubled over the rope that held him, he resembled a bundle of
wet rags. Mr. Baker crawled along the line of men, asking:--"Are you
all there?" and looking them over. Some blinked vacantly, others
shook convulsively; Wamibo's head hung over his breast; and in painful
attitudes, cut by lashings, exhausted with clutching, screwed up in
corners, they breathed heavily. Their lips twitched, and at every
sickening heave of the overturned ship they opened them wide as if to
shout. The cook, embracing a wooden stanchion, unconsciously repeated a
prayer.
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