We were rapidly leaving the
protection of Victoria Island. Soon we would be unable to see our way.
Ten miles outside a high sea was running. And with every blast of wind
that held in the same quarter, the center of the typhoon was bearing
down on us with unerring aim.
"These things were as patent to Wilbur as to any of us. In fact, his
knowledge was his undoing; had he been less of a sailor, or had he been
entirely ignorant of sea matters, he could have resigned himself to the
situation on the assumption that Lee Fu never would put himself in
actual danger. Perhaps Lee Fu had foreseen this when he chose the sea as
the medium of justice; perhaps he had glimpsed the profound and subtle
truth that Wilbur couldn't properly be broken save in his native
environment. He knew the sea, had trifled with it; then let him face the
sea.
"The time came, just before we lost the loom of the land, when Wilbur
could stand it no longer; as a sailor, used to responsibility and
command, he had to speak his mind.
"He dropped aft beside Lee Fu, and put his hand to his mouth. 'You're
running to your death!' he shouted. 'You've already lost Pootoy. If you
can't haul up and make the lee of the Lema Islands--'
"'I intend to pass nowhere near them,' answered Lee Fu, keeping his eyes
on the yawning bow of the sampan.
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