I struck at him with
the point of the crucifix and landed a glancing blow in his face, for the
knuckles of my hand brushed his jaw.
The sharp edge must have cut him, for he uttered a stifled groan, and as
he recoiled from me, partly from my blow and partly as the result of a
deep roll of the vessel, I wriggled out of my jacket and ran forward. In
my flight I bumped into ventilators, stumbled over a hatch-coaming and
pulled myself along the swaying rail-chains toward the bow of the vessel.
In the scuffle I had lost the crucifix, but I had also escaped from the
man who had grabbed me, and, while I was in a panic and did not know
where I was going, I hoped to be able to regain the ladder on the port
side and get back to my room once I had thrown my assailant off my track.
I reached the break of the forecastle head, but did not go into the bows,
because I knew I could not hope to escape from them if I did not keep
open some means of retreat. I halted at the closed scuttle of the
forecastle, for from there I could have my choice of getting aft again
along either rail. I clung to the wooden hood, naked to the waist, and
swept continually by the spindrift from the seas which met the vessel.
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