The night grew brighter. A half moon was trying to fight her way out from behind a cloud, ever-hopeful of throwing her silver rays on the good ship "Wampa." With the sound of the wash on the prow, and the easy balanced roll, with occasional spray from windward, I felt that after all the sea was the place for me.
Just then the lookout shouted, "Light on the starboard bow, sir."
I said, "All right," and reached for the binoculars. A full rigged ship was approaching on the port tack.
"Port your helm, let her come to." When we had her on the lee, I sang out, "Steady as she goes."
As we passed under her quarter, what a beautiful living thing she seemed in the shadows of the night,—and in my dreaming I was near forgetting to keep our ship on her course again. By this time hunger, that familiar genius of those who walk the decks, was upon me again. Nothing tastes better than the time-honored lunch late during the watches at night. I found for myself some cold meat, bread and butter, and coffee in the pantry.
I called the second mate as it was nearing eight bells, twelve o'clock. I felt tired and sleepy and knew that nothing short of a hurricane would awake me from twelve to four.
Up on deck Dago Joe struck eight bells, I took the distance run on the log, and was turning around to go down and call the Captain, when Swanson came aft to relieve the wheel. He looked me over very critically and muttered something to himself. As I went down the companion way to report to the Old Man, I saw the Socialist cook standing in my room.
"Here, Mr. Mate, is a blanket for you. I know you have no bedding."
I thanked him and thought, "Well, the Socialist cook is kind and observant and Socialism is not bad after all."
I called the Captain, then went to my room for a well-earned sleep.