THE SHIP THAT FOUND HERSELF
"I 'm afraid the matter is out of owner's hands for the present," said the Steam, slipping into the condenser. "You 're left to your own devices till the weather betters."
"I would n't mind the weather," said a flat bass voice below; "it 's this confounded cargo that 's breaking my heart. I 'm the garboard-strake, and I 'm twice as thick as most of the others, and I ought to know something."
The garboard-strake is the lowest plate in the bottom of a ship, and the Dimbula's garboard-strake was nearly three-quarters of an inch mild steel.
"The sea pushes me up in a way I should never have expected," the strake grunted, "and the cargo pushes me down, and, between the two, I don't know what I 'm supposed to do."
"When in doubt, hold on," rumbled the Steam, making head in the boilers.
"Yes; but there 's only dark, and cold, and hurry, down here; and how do I know whether the other plates are doing their duty? Those bulwark-plates up above, I 've heard, ain't more than five-sixteenths of an inch thick—scandalous, I call it."
"I agree with you," said a huge web-frame, by the main cargo-hatch. He was deeper and thicker than all the others, and curved half-way across the ship in the shape of half an arch, to support the deck where deck-beams would have been in the way of cargo coming up and down. "I work entirely unsupported, and I observe that I am the sole strength of this vessel, so far as my vision extends. The responsibility, I assure you, is
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