Lord! Lord! For ten
thousand generations and centuries we had stamped upon their faces
and enslaved them to the toil of our will.
Again the Elsinore rolled to starboard and to port, while the spume
spouted to our lower-yards and a thousand tons of South Atlantic
surged across from rail to rail. And again all were down and under,
with jagged plank and twisted steel overriding them. And again that
amazing blond-skinned giant emerged, on his two legs upstanding, a
broken waif like a rat in either hand. He forced his way through
rushing, waist-high water, deposited his burdens with the carpenter
on the fife-rail, and returned to drag Larry reeling to his feet and
help him to the fife-rail. Out of the wash, Tony, the Greek, crawled
on hands and knees and sank down helplessly at the fife-rail. There
was nothing suicidal now in his mood. Struggle as he would, he could
not lift himself until the mate, gripping his oilskin at the collar,
with one hand flung him through the air into the carpenter's arms.
Next came Shorty, his face streaming blood, one arm hanging useless,
his sea-boots stripped from him.
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