rowers with cordial and well-meant abuse. A hundred people shouted futile
directions from the ship. The gravity of the Indian Ocean was disturbed
by the babble of dialects. One voice rose above all the rest, sonorous,
masterful, cursing the ship into order with a deliberate flow of
invective that had the dignity and force of a judgment.

The boat drew off rapidly. The men, squarely and firmly seated, bent
their heavy shoulders with machine-like movements, and when they threw
back their faces the rays of the moon glittered and flashed in their
dilated eyes and on their bared teeth. The sailor at the tiller swayed in
unison, and grunted encouragement, breaking every now and then into
bitter speech, spoken as if in reverent accord with the night and their
mission, in a low, pleading tone, much as a patient mother might address
a wayward child.

'Lift her, lads--lift her, blast you! Oh, my blighted soul, Ellis! I'd
get more square-pullin' out of a starved cat with ten kittens--I would,
by thunder! Now, men, all together! Huh! Huh! hub!'

The boatswain strained as if tugging a stubborn oar. In the interval of
silence that followed all bent attentive ears, but no call came from the
sea. The sleek oars dipped into the waves without a sound, and swung
noiselessly in the worn rowlocks. The man at the prow remained rigid as a
statue, and Coleman resumed his whispered invocation.

'Bend to it, you devils! One! two! three! Morton, don't go to sleep, you
swine! Ryan! Tadvers, you herrin'-gutted, boss-eyed son of a barber's
ape, are you rowin' or spoonin' up hot soup? Pull, men! Huh! That's a
clinker! Huh! Shift her! Huh! May the fiend singe you for a drowsy pack
o' sea-cows! Pull!'