Officers stood by, giving orders in monosyllables with practised calm.

All was hurry and turmoil, yet with a marvellous sense of order and prompt obedience as well.

But, at any rate, the people on deck hadn't the swift swirl of the boisterous water, the hampering wet clothes, the pervading consciousness of personal danger, to make their brains reel, like Felix Thurstan's.

They could ask one another with comparative composure what had happened on board; they could listen without terror to the story of the accident.
It was the thirteenth day out from Sydney, and the Australasian was rapidly nearing the equator.

Toward evening the wind had freshened, and the sea was running high against her weather side.