How we cite our quotes: (Section.Paragraph)
Quote #1
A singular disadvantage of the sea lies in the fact that after successfully surmounting one wave you discover that there is another behind it just as important and just as nervously anxious to do something effective in the way of swamping boats. [. . .] As each slaty wall of water approached, it shut all else from the view of the men in the boat, and it was not difficult to imagine that this particular wave was the final outburst of the ocean, the last effort of the grim water. There was a terrible grace in the move of the waves, and they came in silence, save for the snarling of the crests. (1.10)
The strongest element in this story is clearly the ocean. It doesn't sound like the men feel very enthusiastic about the ocean's strength (in destroying boats) and skill (at killing men). They're certainly awestruck, but awestruck in the worst sense—more like terrified.
Quote #2
They sat together in the same seat, and each rowed an oar. Then the oiler took both oars; then the correspondent took both oars; then the oiler; then the correspondent. They rowed and they rowed. The very ticklish part of the business was when the time came for the reclining one in the stern to take his turn at the oars. By the very last star of truth, it is easier to steal eggs from under a hen than it was to change seats in the dingey. First the man in the stern slid his hand along the thwart and moved with care, as if he were of Sevres. Then the man in the rowing seat slid his hand along the other thwart. It was all done with the most extraordinary care. As the two sidled past each other, the whole party kept watchful eyes on the coming wave, and the captain cried: "Look out now! Steady there!" (2.12)
This is a great illustration of how precarious the situation in the boat is—just switching seats with someone is about the most dangerous thing you could do. Just in case we had forgotten, while appreciating the great skill with which the men manage this maneuver, Crane reminds us of the boat-swamping strength of "the coming wave." We might be getting a little seasick over here just thinking about it all.
Quote #3
"Take her easy, now, boys," said the captain. "Don't spend yourselves. If we have to run a surf you'll need all your strength, because we'll sure have to swim for it. Take your time."(3.9)
This isn't really so much foreshadowing, as it is anti-foreshadowing (yes, we just made up that term—bear with us). This is because in the end, the only man who does simply "swim for it" doesn't make it, whereas the other three find other means of getting to shore. The cook grabs an oar and paddles; the captain clings to the overturned boat; the correspondent is, as far as we can tell, tossed by a miraculous wave into shallow waters. Maybe it's not all about strength, after all.
Quote #4
The billows that came at this time were more formidable. They seemed always just about to break and roll over the little boat in a turmoil of foam. There was a preparatory and long growl in the speech of them. No mind unused to the sea would have concluded that the dingey could ascend these sheer heights in time. The shore was still afar. The oiler was a wily surfman. "Boys," he said, swiftly, "she won't live three minutes more and we're too far out to swim. Shall I take her to sea again, captain?"
"Yes! Go ahead!" said the captain. (4.13-14)
We would prefer to describe this passage as describing a dance between the waves, the boat, and the rower, but that would imply they're working together. Maybe it's more like a war, or one of those dance scenes from West Side Story, where the fight is a dance and the dance is a fight. Here, all three are putting forth maximum effort to survive, and it's basically a war of attrition, in which each side is trying to wear down and outlast its opponent. We like how the boat gets a shout-out here, one of the few times it gets any credit for being a brave little boat.
Quote #5
This oiler, by a series of quick miracles, and fast and steady oarsmanship, turned the boat in the middle of the surf and took her safely to sea again. (4.15)
Here's the oiler doing something impressive again, yeah yeah, no big deal, right? It's the part about "quick miracles" that drew our attention to this quote. Can miracles really be attributed to the oiler's strength and skill, or is there something else going on here?
Quote #6
The plan of the oiler and the correspondent was for one to row until he lost the ability, and then arouse the other from his sea-water couch in the bottom of the boat. (5.5)
Yeah, we know, we talked about this a lot in the Determination section, but imagine—waking up from a nap all cold and wet, only to row all night long. Sounds pretty miserable. Not to mention, they also have to switch seats, which risks dumping everyone out of the rickety little boat. Strength and skill are a must at this point.
Quote #7
The cook had tied a life-belt around himself in order to get even the warmth which this clumsy cork contrivance could donate, and he seemed almost stove-like when a rower, whose teeth invariably chattered wildly as soon as he ceased his labor, dropped down to sleep. (5.11)
We get the feeling we're not supposed to consider the cook very strong, considering the pointed mention of his "fat forearms" (1.3) right there at the beginning of the story. This line arrives inconspicuously in the middle of the story, when the foremost concern on the men's minds is staying warm through the night. We might not think much of the life preserver, but then at the end when the men are tossed from the boat, the cook has a floatation device around his middle and he seems to float pretty comfortably to shore. We'd say that demonstrates considerable skill.
Quote #8
But the thing did not then leave the vicinity of the boat. Ahead or astern, on one side or the other, at intervals long or short, fled the long sparkling streak, and there was to be heard the whiroo of the dark fin. The speed and power of the thing was greatly to be admired. It cut the water like a gigantic and keen projectile. (5.21)
What's the second most terrifying thing in the ocean, after the ocean itself? Sharks! Oh and look, here's one right now. The correspondent provides the commentary as it circles the boat in the dead of night. Even then, he cannot help but notice, "the speed and power of the thing was greatly to be admired." What does this tell us about strength and skill? Well, as we mentioned above, these qualities aren't only present in the good guys. We might also suggest that the shark doesn't really do anything—it just makes its presence known and moves on. In a sense, you could say the shark is sort of impotent; its strength and skill are useless.
Quote #9
The third wave moved forward, huge, furious, implacable. It fairly swallowed the dingey, and almost simultaneously the men tumbled into the sea. A piece of life-belt had lain in the bottom of the boat, and as the correspondent went overboard he held this to his chest with his left hand. (7.17)
This is another example of what we discussed earlier with the cook—that skill is often just as valuable and important as strength. You know what they say, "The life-preserver is mightier than the sword."
Quote #10
When he came to the surface he was conscious of little but the noisy water. Afterward he saw his companions in the sea. The oiler was ahead in the race. He was swimming strongly and rapidly. Off to the correspondent's left, the cook's great white and corked back bulged out of the water, and in the rear the captain was hanging with his one good hand to the keel of the overturned dingey. [. . .] Presently the boat also passed to the left of the correspondent with the captain clinging with one hand to the keel. He would have appeared like a man raising himself to look over a board fence, if it were not for the extraordinary gymnastics of the boat. The correspondent marvelled that the captain could still hold to it. (7.25)
Let's treat these two quotes as a pair, because they end up sort of contradicting each other. The oiler is strong. He swims far ahead of the others and the correspondent watches him. We can assume the correspondent is impressed that even after all they've been through, the oiler can still swim so powerfully, although he doesn't mention it directly—but then the oiler turns up dead. Then there's the captain, who stays behind with the others. The way he clings to the boat is a feat of impressive strength as well, and this the correspondent does mention directly. What do these two events suggest about Crane's thoughts on strength and skill? Is there an element of reason or logic or prudence that needs to be considered as well?