Borckman was also a two-legged white-god.

Easily could Borckman lift him down the precipitous ladder, which was to him, unaided, a taboo, the violation of which was pregnant with disaster.

But Borckman had in him little of the heart of love, which is understanding.

Also, Borckman was busy.

Besides overseeing the continuous adjustment, by trimming of sails and orders to the helmsman, of the _Arangi_ to her way on the sea, and overseeing the boat's crew at its task of washing deck and polishing brasswork, he was engaged in steadily nipping from a stolen bottle of his captain's whiskey which he had stowed away in the hollow between the two sacks of yams lashed on deck aft the mizzenmast.
Borckman was on his way for another nip, after having thickly threatened to knock seven bells and the ten commandments out of the black at the wheel for faulty steering, when Jerry appeared before him and blocked the way to his desire.