"Nobody is better'n we are," says the captain.

The Africa is rapidly foundering.

"She must be as rotten as punk," sneers Corkey. He thinks of his
cheerful desk at the newspaper office. He thinks of his marine
register. He tries to recall the rating of this hulk of an Africa.

"Anyhow, it is tough!" he laments.

The wind is perhaps less boisterous since the engine slacked. The rays
of light from the cabin lamps pierce and split the waves. Corkey never
saw so much foam before.

"It's an easy good-bye for all of us," he says, and falls ill.

But shall he wait for the Africa to settle?

"She'll pull me down, sure!" he comments.

Shall he wait much longer, then?

"All them roosters will be up here, and then we can't do nothing. Yet
I wish I had somebody with me. Oh, Lockwin! I say, hello! Old man!
Lockwin! Come up this way!"

For a moment there is nothing to be heard but the furious whistling of
the gale about the mast in front. There is nobody in the wheel-house
to the best of Corkey's eyesight.