He was bawling upwards now, to Mr.Waters on the bridge.

Then he pushed me on one side and took my place at the wheel, shouting to the steersman--"I meant the Scotch lad, not that boy." "He's strong enough, and steady too," was the reply.
They both drove the wheel in silence, and I held on by a coil of heavy rope, and sucked my fingers to warm them, and very salt they tasted.
Then the captain left the wheel and turned to me again.
"Are you cold ?" "Rather, sir." "You may go below, and see if the cook can spare you a cup of coffee." "Thank you, sir." "But first find Mr.Johnson, and send him here." "Yes, sir." Whilst the captain was talking, I began to think of Dennis O'Moore, and how he groaned, and to wonder whether it was true that he would get better, and whether it would be improper to ask the captain, who would not be likely to humbug me, if he answered at all.
"Well ?" said the captain sharply, "what are you standing there like a stuck pig for ?" I saluted.

"Please, sir, _will_ he get better ?" "What the -- -- Oh, yes.

And hi, you!" "Yes, sir ?" "He's in the steerage.

You may go and see if he wants anything, and attend on him.