The majority of the men were seated on the rocks without, or lounging near the entrance.

They were smoking now freely, the only stipulation being that matches were not to be struck in the open.
Their whispered talk ceased when they saw the girl.

Absorbed in the prospect of a fight for life, for the moment they had forgotten her, but a murmured tribute of sympathy and recognition greeted her appearance.
The Irishman found his tongue first.
"Begorrah, miss," he said, "but it's the proud man I'll be the next time I see you smilin' from the kay side at Liverpool, no matter whether I'm there meself or not." No one laughed at the absurd phrase which so clearly expressed its meaning.

But the ship's cook, Peter, noting the strips of dried meat in her hands, raised a grin by saying: "Sorry the galley fire is out, miss, or I'd 'ave stewed 'em a bit." This kindly badinage was gratifying, though it helped to reveal the interrupted topic of their conversation.

There was no hiding the desperate character of the coming adventure.