We shouted to him to "shut up, for God's sake." He redoubled his
cries. He must have fancied we could not hear him. Probably he heard his
own clamour but faintly. We could picture him crouching on the edge of
the upper berth, letting out with both fists at the wood, in the
dark, and with his mouth wide open for that unceasing cry. Those were
loathsome moments. A cloud driving across the sun would darken the
doorway menacingly. Every movement of the ship was pain. We scrambled
about with no room to breathe, and felt frightfully sick. The boatswain
yelled down at us:--"Bear a hand! Bear a hand! We two will be washed
away from here directly if you ain't quick!" Three times a sea leaped
over the high side and flung bucketfuls of water on our heads. Then
Jimmy, startled by the shock, would stop his noise for a moment--waiting
for the ship to sink, perhaps--and began again, distressingly loud, as
if invigorated by the gust of fear. At the bottom the nails lay in a
layer several inches thick. It was ghastly. Every nail in the world,
not driven in firmly somewhere, seemed to have found its way into that
carpenter's shop. There they were, of all kinds, the remnants of stores
from seven voyages.
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