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Updated: June 14, 2025
Pearl went below, and Harold, in the shelter of the charthouse, together with a good many others, looked out over the wild sea. Harold, despite the wild turmoil of winds and seas around him, which usually lifted his spirits, was sad, feeling lonely and wretched; he was suffering from the recoil of his little friend's charming presence. Pearl came on deck again looking for him.
Now promise me solemnly that you will take me up into the charthouse when this typhoon is simply tearing things to pieces." "Oh dear! I do hope it will not be very bad. Is there no way in which you can avoid it, captain? Will it last long?" The politic skipper for once preferred to answer Lady Tozer. "There is no cause for uneasiness," he said.
At sea he spends all his hours on the bridge or in the charthouse, and is only seen below for odd ten minutes at a time.
He was asleep in his clothes on the cushioned settee in the charthouse underneath the bridge and would be up in ten seconds if required. But the acting "sub" did hesitate to call him unnecessarily. After all, it was quite possible that the "C.O." might be rather peevish if he was hauled out for no reason.
The promenade deck, even the lofty spar deck, was scourged with the broken crests of waves that tried with demoniac energy to smash in the starboard bow, for the Sirdar was cutting into the heart of the cyclone. The captain fought his way to the charthouse. He wiped the salt water from his eyes and looked anxiously at the barometer. "Still falling!" he muttered.
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