“The words seemed to be fairly ripped out of him. He didn’t seem to be speaking to me. It was more as if he were trying to make himself believe something that was too bad to realize.
“I managed to say something—I forget just what: that it was rotten luck, perhaps. I doubt if he heard me, anyhow, for he went on in the same strange voice, like someone talking to himself.
“‘She’s good for twenty years yet!’ And then, in a sort of choking voice, ‘Mine—mine, by God, mine!’
“Well, I just turned at that and bolted. I felt I couldn’t stand any more. It seemed like eavesdropping on a man’s soul.
“I didn’t see him again until the next morning, when the tug came alongside as soon as it was light. He came on deck looking as if nothing had happened. I never said anything, of course—no more did he; and from that day to this I don’t really know—though I rather fancy he did—if he remembered what had passed between us.
“We had a fine passage down to Iquique, where we discharged our lumber and loaded nitrates for the U.K. The Old Man had got very fussy about the ship. He had every inch of her teak scraped and oiled while we were running down the Trades, and everything made as smart as could be aloft; and while we were lying at Iquique he had her figurehead, which was a very pretty one, all done over—pure white, of course. I did the best part of it myself, for I used to be reckoned rather a swell in the slap-dab business in those days, though I say it myself!
“Well, we finished our loading and left, and all the ships cheered us down the tier; and I don’t wonder, for the old ship looked a picture.
“The Old Man and I had got to be quite friends. I suppose we were as near being pals as a skipper and a second mate ever could be. He was working on a new rail for the poop ladder—all fancy ropework and so on—and he used to bring it up on deck and yarn away to me about old times hour by the length. I fancy he rather liked me, but up till then he had always had a kind of stand-offish, you-keep-your-place-young-man way with him; and for my part I’d always looked on him with that sort of mixture of holy awe when he was there and disrespect behind his back a fellow has for the skipper he’s served his time under. I suppose our both thinking such a lot of the old barky gave us an interest in common. You see, I’d served my time in her right from the start, so that naturally she was the ship of all ships for me—still is, for the matter of that.... Say what you will, she was a great old ship, and he was a great old skipper!”
(Kennedy paused. A quiver had crept somehow into his voice, and he had to get it under control again.)
“The Old Man” (he went on) “had always been what I should call a careful skipper. Not nervous—nothing of that sort—but cautious; I never knew him lose a sail but once, and never a spar. In fact, I used to feel a bit annoyed with him sometimes because he didn’t go out of his way to take risks. He was a fine seaman; but there’s no denying the fact he was cautious. He made some fine passages in the ‘Maid of Athens,’ and never a bad one. But he didn’t really drive her. I believe he was too damned fond of her.