Chapter 4

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. 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."--"I will 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 aimless 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 together before they could come