“He’s going to touch at Nova Scotia and points north, I hear,” remarked another sailor.
One dark night an event occurred which threw some light on the Captain’s action.
Will had been cleaning the lamps in the forward cabin. The weather had been squally all day, and had developed into a positive storm at night.
More than once the boatswain had come to the cabin where the captain and mate were, asking for orders, as the ship seemed in positive danger.
The mate went on deck several times, but would return almost immediately, and he and the Captain would resume their confidential talk, drinking freely from a bottle of liquor on the table, in the inner cabin.
They paid no attention to Will, who was in the next compartment to the one they occupied, but they started and looked up, and Will himself aroused curiously as a form came into the cabin and boldly entered on the privacy of the captain and the mate.
It was Jack Marcy, and his face was grim and uncompromising as he faced his superior officers.
Captain Morris scowled darkly.
“What do you want here?” he demanded, gruffly.
“I want to talk with you about this ship. The crew are getting uneasy. They say she is suffering from stress of weather, and that the commanding officers are not doing their duty.”