In Hazard by Richard Hughes

fore-deck, still there were the after-hatches to consider. Some of them might have gone too. The after well-deck offered more shelter; so, if they had, it might be just possible to work there—if he got enough men for the job.
    Mr. Buxton went first to the saloon; where he found Mr. Rabb, his clear blue eyes staring straight in front of him, as if the worst storm could not affect his serenity. He was a comforting sight, to one direly in need of help. Mr. Buxton called him.
    In the corridor he met the boy Bennett, with the Chinese bosun only, for none of the other Chinamen would come. They sat in a huddle on the fo’c’sle floor, he said: not attempting to hold on to anything, but sliding about as she rolled, bleating faintly as they bumped.
    Then the tall boy, Phillips, appeared.
    That made five. Five might do something. They made their way aft: and from the shelter of the centre-castle they saw what needed to be done.
    No. 6 hatch was stripped also. But the planks had not gone overboard. If even some of them could be replaced, they could be lashed down, and the water going below could be checked. Nor was the position so exposed. It ought to be possible.
    Indeed, Mr. Foster was out there already—busy with the stretching-screw of one of the mast-stays, which in spite of its locking-device was threatening to work loose. However, he was plainly too busy on his own job to be able to come and help them.
    They had better make a dash for it.
    They had better make a dash for it, at once. But Mr. Buxton felt a curious unwillingness in his feet. All the top of him leant forward, but his feet seemed to creep backwards under him, like small rabbits looking for their holes.
    This is not so bad as the foredeck, he said to himself; not half so bad. Safe as houses. “Come on!” he yelled, and flung himself forward.
    Bennett and Phillips were after him like dogs off the leash. It never occured to them to be afraid, being new to it. They saw Mr. Buxton go, and they went: and landed on top of him, in a heap.
    Buxton was out from under them in no time: beginning work before they knew which way up they were. One by one they got the hatches, dragging them up from the lee-scuppers. Then the mate and Phillips straddled the hatch-beams, the gaping hold under them, while Bennett worked from the deck. That was the hard part— lifting the hatches, without the wind getting under them. There was no sign of Mr. Rabb, nor the bosun. This was a big job for a man and two boys.
    They got three in place, and lashed them. They were struggling with a fourth when a redoubled gust caught them. Mr. Buxton and Phillips clung under the beams they were straddling, like sloths. The hatch blew out of their hands, knocking poor young Bennett into the lee-scuppers, where he lay inert, washing about in the suds.
    Mr. Buxton hoisted himself up, and was about to go after him, when Bennett, revived by the slapping water, sat up. The first thing he saw was his leg: it was bent sideways at a right angle, just above the ankle. My God, he thought: I’ve bust my leg: it will begin to hurt, soon, a lot. Best get out of this before it begins. He moved gingerly—and it came right off.
    Sitting there in the water, he blushed right round to his neck for being such an ass. Fancy thinking he had bust his leg! For it was only his sea-boot, of course, which had worked half-off as he skiddered, and then, being empty, had doubled up.
    He made a grab at it, and then waited his chance to scramble back to the hatch-coaming.
    Meanwhile, Mr. Buxton debated. His feet were bold enough now; but his heart was uncomfortable. By rights of course they ought to stick there till the last hatch was secured. But he did not want to kill the boys. They were regular little lions. It would be a shame if these boys were killed and all those bloody bleating Chinamen were not. It was the merest chance Bennett had not gone, that time. Anyway, they had stopped most of the water