I followed them.
CHAPTER VIII
MR. HARRIS HAS A FEW IDEAS
Clutching the iron hand-rail of the ladder leading to the fore-deck, I
went down as quickly as I could. For half a minute I stood on the wet
plates of the deck, drenched by the spray which swept the head of the
vessel every time she lurched forward into the seas. Above me I could
make out the dim shape of the bridge and superstructure, and I could hear
the wind slatting the storm-apron lashed along the bridge-rail and the
singing of the funnel-stays, but it was so black overhead that I could
not distinguish any figure on the bridge.
The forecastle-head could barely be made out, and the winch-wheels and
ventilators on deck were inchoate masses which took shape only when they
were within reach. The green starboard-light threw a sickly glare over
the surges which rose to the rail. I had to feel my way along and not
release my grip until I had found a hold on something else.
If it was dark on deck, the appalling gloom below was terrifying, and
nothing seemed stable--there were times when I mistook the bulkhead for
the deck, when the vessel took a long roll and laboured to right herself.
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