Pike and his men.
They disappeared. The bridge disappeared. The Elsinore rolled to
port and dipped her deck full from rail to rail. Next, she plunged
down by the head, and all this mass of water surged forward. Through
the creaming, foaming surface now and then emerged an arm, or a head,
or a back, while cruel edges of jagged plank and twisted steel rods
advertised that the bridge was turning over and over. I wondered
what men were beneath it and what mauling they were receiving.
And yet these men did not count. I was aware of anxiety only for Mr.
Pike. He, in a way, socially, was of my caste and class. He and I
belonged aft in the high place; ate at the same table. I was acutely
desirous that he should not be hurt or killed. The rest did not
matter. They were not of my world. I imagine the old-time skippers,
on the middle passage, felt much the same toward their slave-cargoes
in the fetid 'tween decks.
The Elsinore's bow tilted skyward while her stern fell into a foaming
valley. Not a man had gained his feet.
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