The little, quick-footed Jap brought him back of the wheelhouse and then disappeared.

Leaning against the rail was McTee, unaware of their coming and peering out at the wake of the ship.
As the Heron's stern dipped to a trough of a wave that towered blackly into the night, the outlines of McTee's form were blurred, but the next moment he was tossed up against the very heart of the starry sky.

With that peculiar mixture of fear and thrilling exultation which he always felt when he came into the presence of the captain, Harrigan drew close.

Perhaps the sailor had chosen this heaving afterdeck as the place for their final death struggle, ending when one of them was hurled into the black ocean.
It was this thought which gave the ring to his voice when he called, "I've come, McTee!" The captain whirled, bracing himself against the rail with both hands, as though prepared to meet an attempt to thrust him overboard.

Then-- and Harrigan thought his ears deceived him as he listened--McTee said with a great, outgoing breath: "Thank God!" He explained: "Come closer; talk soft! Harrigan, guard yourself tonight.