Part 19

“Pooh!” said the second mate, who was not troubled with superstitious fears; besides the bo’sun made the same remark every time the watches were mustered, then he shouted, “Relieve the wheel and look out. Keep yourselves handy there, the watch.”

“She ‘s got the main-to’g’ll’nts’le on, mister,” said the mate, “and the outer jib. It’s been like this all the watch, steady enough. The sea’s getting up a bit, and having the spanker set makes her steer so badly, but the old man wouldn’t let me douse it;” and muttering something about the “glass going right down into the hold” the oil-skinned figure departed down the companion.

It was dark, very dark indeed, for though the moon was nearly full, heavy clouds obscured the sky, and only now and then she managed to pierce them, showing as clear as day the deserted wet decks--for the watch had all stowed away--the few sails set and just under the foot of the foresail the lookout man, banging his arms to and fro to keep himself warm.

The second mate paced briskly up and down the poop, for’ard was the lookout man, aft the man at the wheel, they three seemed to compose the whole ship’s company, and it gave him for a moment a sense of loneliness. Hardly a week ago and he had hoped for such different things.

He had lost nothing, nothing; he told himself so over and over again, as he drew his oilskins close round him, and yet there was a sense of loss in his life, a great and terrible loss. She would be nothing to him, the girl he loved so well, she would marry Clement Scott, she had as good as told him so--because--because he was the better man. The better man--the better man--the words formed themselves into a sort of rhythm that his steps kept time to--“the better man, the better man.”

“Binnacle light’s goin’ hout, sir,” said the man at the wheel, breaking in on his sad thoughts.

“Below there. One of you boys trim this light.”

Young Angus Mackie answered his hail, unshipped the light, and lingered for a moment.

“We ‘ll be right aboard t’auld place in an hour or two, sir.”

“What?”

“I was sayin’ that goin’ on this tack we ‘ll be awfu’ close in shore. Ye could pretty nigh chuck a biscuit in at the kitchen door. I wonder if they’ll be thinkin’ o’ us.”

“E--h--h?” muttered Harper, for had not his thoughts been taking the same road, though not for worlds would he have owned it.

“I’m thinkin’ Susy will. Ye see I ‘m thinkin’ Susy was a bit gone--”

“You boy, trim that lamp,” said Harper angrily. “Look here, my lad, you just keep your tongue lashed amidships, and don’t go gassing about things that don’t concern you in the least, or you and I ‘ll part brass rags.”

The boy scurried below and returned with the lamp retrimmed. He slipped the light into the binnacle and looked doubtfully at the second mate. It was dull and he was inclined to talk, but after his late rebuff hardly dared. Harper began to pace up and down again, and the boy stowed himself under the lee of the house, volunteering the information as he passed the mate.

“Bo’sun says the wind ‘s goin’ to shift ahead.”

“You be hanged, and the bo’sun too!”

But before an hour had gone by he was obliged to acknowledge that the bo’sun’s weather prophecies were very correct, for the wind shifted point after point till it was right ahead and blowing half a gale. Harper looked aloft and noted the clouds scurrying across the sky. Heavier and heavier they were growing to wind’ard.

“By Jove!” he muttered to himself, “we ‘re in for a nasty night.”

Suddenly the lookout man reported, “Light right ahead, sir.”

Harper stepped forward to the skylight and peered down into the cabin, dimly lighted by an oil lamp. It was a bare enough little place at best, but it looked comfort itself as contrasted with the wet decks above. The skipper was lying on a settee sound asleep, one hairy arm thrown out, and on the table meditatively surveying him was Dinah, the ship’s cat.

“Hallo there!” reported the mate through the skylight; “light right ahead, sir.”

Very lazily he rolled off the sofa, scared puss out of her senses by a rough sweep of his hand, and came up on deck.

“Great Scott!” he growled, “what a night!” Then he took a squint through his night glasses.

“Oh, yes, mister,” he said, “that’s all right. It’s just a small light--a leading mark for the small craft going into the creek there for lime. Fixed white light, I heard of it the day before we left. It’s deep water right up. We’ll go right in, mister, and make a long board of it on the next tack.”

The moon was completely hidden now, and both men hanging over the break of the the poop could see nothing but the bright light right ahead.

“It looks small, sir,” ventured Harper, taking another look through his glasses.

“Didn’t I tell ye it was small? If ye will be for ever--”