Ships have been dismasted in squalls simply because they weren’t handled quick enough, and we have no power to whirl the yards around. It’s like being bound hand and foot preparatory to having one’s throat cut. And what appals me most of all is that I shrink from going on deck to face it. It’s due to the ship, it’s due to the men who are there on deck⁠—some of them, ready to put out the last remnant of their strength at a word from me. And I am shrinking from it. From the mere vision. My first command. Now I understand that strange sense of insecurity in my past. I always suspected that I might be no good. And here is proof positive. I am shirking it. I am no good.”

At that moment, or, perhaps, the moment after, I became aware of Ransome standing in the cabin. Something in his expression startled me. It had a meaning which I could not make out. I exclaimed: “Somebody’s dead.”

It was his turn then to look startled.

“Dead? Not that I know of, sir. I have been in the forecastle only ten minutes ago and there was no dead man there then.”