“You know, you say, ‘fine’, but what I think you really mean is, ‘a spire of volcanic rock just spewed out of the ocean and cooled before our eyes and I have my doubts the boat can turn fast enough.’ Is that what you mean by, ‘we’re fine?'” Allan asked.
The captain, beard waving in the ocean breeze, body moving up and down with the roll of the waves, narrowed his eyes and raised his looking glass, brushing aside Allan’s concerns.
“I’ve seen much worse,” the captain assured the young man.
“When?” Allan protested.
“We’re probably fine,” The captain corrected.