Explore "Kate Meredith, Financier" by Cutcliffe Hyne on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Captain Image yapped out his commands to the third mate and a quartermaster in the wheelhouse in tones that supplied many missing adjectives:
". Starboard your helm. Starboard. Hard-a-starboard, you bung-eyed son of perdition -- stop her. Crumbs! but we sliced off a thumping big chunk of Africa there, and broke half the tumblers in the steward's pantry by the sound of it. I bet something big it's another case of going home on what's left of the double bottom, and Old Horny to pay in Water Street, Liverpool. Give her full ahead now, and steady your helm, quartermaster. My holy whiskers, who wouldn't sell a farm and go to sea? Starboard your helm, six points. There, steady on that. Half speed the engines. " And so on over and over again for every hour since the sun rose to blister the swamps, and call forth the full volume of their earth and crushed-marigold smell.