"Bad enough. It mostly rests with you," said Captain MacWhirr. Was the
mate down there yet? No? Well, he would be presently. Would Mr. Rout
let him talk through the speaking-tube?--through the deck speaking-tube,
because he--the Captain--was going out again on the bridge directly.
There was some trouble amongst the Chinamen. They were fighting, it
seemed. Couldn't allow fighting anyhow. . . .

Mr. Rout had gone away, and Captain MacWhirr could feel against his ear
the pulsation of the engines, like the beat of the ship's heart. Mr.
Rout's voice down there shouted something distantly. The ship pitched
headlong, the pulsation leaped with a hissing tumult, and stopped dead.
Captain MacWhirr's face was impassive, and his eyes were fixed aimlessly
on the crouching shape of the second mate. Again Mr. Rout's voice
cried out in the depths, and the pulsating beats recommenced, with slow
strokes--growing swifter.

Mr. Rout had returned to the tube. "It don't matter much what they do,"
he said, hastily; and then, with irritation, "She takes these dives as
if she never meant to come up again."

"Awful sea," said the Captain's voice from above.

"Don't let me drive her under," barked Solomon Rout up the pipe.

"Dark and rain. Can't see what's coming," uttered the voice.
"Must--keep--her--moving--enough to steer--and chance it," it went on to
state distinctly.

"I am doing as much as I dare."