Beyond that he controlled himself.
"Go on, you," he said.

"I'll have nothing out of you.

Get into the fo'c's'le." And then, to my surprise, he turned and walked aft along the bridge to where the tug was casting off its lines.

So this was all his high and mighty talk of kill and drive, I thought.

Not until afterwards did I recollect, as I turned aft down the deck, that I saw Captain West leaning on the rail at the break of the poop and gazing for'ard.
The tug's lines were being cast off, and I was interested in watching the manoeuvre until she had backed clear of the ship, at which moment, from for'ard, arose a queer babel of howling and yelping, as numbers of drunken voices cried out that a man was overboard.