They tumbled over and over, tightening their hug. Suddenly the water
let them down with a brutal bang; and, stranded against the side of the
wheelhouse, out of breath and bruised, they were left to stagger up in
the wind and hold on where they could.

Jukes came out of it rather horrified, as though he had escaped some
unparalleled outrage directed at his feelings. It weakened his faith in
himself. He started shouting aimlessly to the man he could feel near him
in that fiendish blackness, "Is it you, sir? Is it you, sir?" till his
temples seemed ready to burst. And he heard in answer a voice, as if
crying far away, as if screaming to him fretfully from a very great
distance, the one word "Yes!" Other seas swept again over the bridge.
He received them defencelessly right over his bare head, with both his
hands engaged in holding.

The motion of the ship was extravagant. Her lurches had an appalling
helplessness: she pitched as if taking a header into a void, and seemed
to find a wall to hit every time. When she rolled she fell on her side
headlong, and she would be righted back by such a demolishing blow that
Jukes felt her reeling as a clubbed man reels before he collapses. The
gale howled and scuffled about gigantically in the darkness, as though
the entire world were one black gully. At certain moments the air
streamed against the ship as if sucked through a tunnel with a
concentrated solid force of impact that seemed to lift her clean out
of the water and keep her up for an instant with only a quiver running
through her from end to end. And then she would begin her tumbling again
as if dropped back into a boiling cauldron. Jukes tried hard to compose
his mind and judge things coolly.