Part 94

When he turned out he was ordered to take his trick at the wheel. The schooner had made her offing and was headed for her northward run along the coast, which showed as a thin thread of white along the flashing blue of the sea.

Mayo took the course from the gaunt, sooty Jamaican who stepped away from the wheel; he set his gaze on the compass and had plenty to occupy his hands and his mind, for a big schooner which is logging off six or eight knots in a following sea is somewhat of a proposition for a steersman. Occasionally he was obliged to climb bodily upon the wheel in order to hold the vessel up to her course.

Captain Downs was pacing steadily from rail to rail between the wheel and the house. At each turn he glanced up for a squint at the sails. It was the regular patrol of a schooner captain.

In spite of his absorption in his task, Mayo could not resist taking an occasional swift peep at the passenger. The young man's demeanor had become so peculiar that it attracted attention. He looked worried, ill at ease, smoked his cigarettes nervously, flung over the rail one which he had just lighted, and started for the captain, his mouth open. Then he turned away, shielded a match under the hood of the companionway, and touched off another cigarette. He was plainly wrestling with a problem that distressed him very much.

At last he hurried below. He came up almost immediately. He had the air of a man who had made up his mind to have a disagreeable matter over with.

“Captain Downs,” he blurted, stepping in front of Old Mull and halting that astonished skipper, “will you please step down into the cabin with me for a few moments? I've something to tell you.”

“Well, tell it--tell it here!” barked the captain.

“It's very private, sir!”

“I don't know of any privater place than this quarterdeck, fifteen miles offshore.”

“But the--the man at the wheel!”

“Good Josephus! That ain't a man! That's a nigger sailor steering my schooner. Tell your tale, Mr. Bradish. Tell it right here. That fellow don't count any more 'n that rudder-head counts.”

“If you could step down into the cabin, I--”

“My place is on this quarter-deck, sir. If you've got anything to say to me, say it!” He began to pace again.

Bradish caught step, after a scuff or two.

“I hope you're going to take this thing right, Captain Downs. It may sound queer to you at first,” he stammered.

“Well, well, well, tell it to me--tell it! Then I will let you know whether it sounds queer or not.”

“I brought another passenger on board with me. She is locked in a stateroom.”

Old Mull stopped his patrol with a jerk. “She?” he demanded. “You mean to tell me you've got a woman aboard here?”

“We're engaged--we want to get married. So she came along--”

“Then why in tophet didn't ye go get married? You don't think this is a parsonage, do you?”

“There were reasons why we couldn't get married ashore. You have to have licenses, and questions are asked, and we were afraid it would be found out before we could arrange it.”

“So this is an elopement, hey?”

“Well, the young lady's father has foolish ideas about a husband for his daughter, and she doesn't agree with him.”

“Who is her father?”

“I don't intend to tell you, sir. That hasn't anything to do with the matter.”

Captain Downs looked his passenger up and down with great disfavor. “And what's your general idea in loading yourselves onto me in this fashion?”

“You have the right, as captain of a ship outside the three-mile limit, to marry folks in an emergency.”

“I ain't sure that I've got any such right, and I ain't at all certain about the emergency, Mr. Bradish. I ain't going to stick my head into a scrape.”