"You must not talk," he said firmly, well knowing that if the sailors
and firemen lumbering close behind had not heard her earlier comment it
was due solely to the blustering wind. They were skirting the seaward
face of the rocky islet on which they had found salvation. The sun was
blazing at them sideways from a wide expanse of blue sky. The rear
guard clouds of the gale were scurrying away over the horizon in front
of their upward path. Somehow, Philip's sailor's brain was befogged.
Those clouds must have blown to the northeast. If that were so, what
was the sun doing in the southeast at this time of the day? It had
hardly budged a point from the quarter in which some fitful gleams
shone when that mad thing happened near the windlass. Thinking he was
still dizzy from the effects of the blow, which the girl had ascribed
to the bursting of a shell, Philip glanced at his watch. It was
twenty-five minutes past eight! Yet he distinctly remembered eight
bells being struck while Coke was telling him from the bridge to give
the anchor thirty-five fathoms of cable. Was it possible that they had
gone through so much during those few minutes? If he were really
light-headed, then sun and clouds and watch were conspiring to keep him
so.
Iris, chilled by his stern tone, nevertheless noted his action.
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