"I never have."
"Then look once more—the way I might've been deceived—the way the Devil's minions are in the thing tonight, now that's no lie. I waited too long, so I did. I cast about, while time wasted, praying for the easier course—a fleet—men enough—seeing I could not have the support of those who should have understood me. I prayed for the easier course, so I did, but I tell you now, Beneen, a man must never do that."
And Ben looked again, and found nothing. "It was a sail?"
"I thought so. I thought so, Ben."
"If you'll call Manuel aft, whose eyes are good as mine——"
"Manuel is it? Have I time for the witless, when—but I may have been deceived. Not there, you say, and I'm believing you. Nothing?"
"Nothing. Sometimes, Mr. Shawn, I've been fooled at night by a whale's spouting. The spray of him seems to hang in the air a while, and I suppose moonlight may lend it the look of a sail." Shawn laughed a little, his breathing slower. He seemed not annoyed that an untamed pup should be instructing him concerning sea-born illusions. "Well, do you take the helm again, and this'll be your bearing, steady as she goes."
"May I ask, Mr. Shawn, is this course for Martinique?"
"It seems to be gone and that's the truth, and yet I could have sworn—what? Martinique? Why, if my reckoning is right, her present course maintained will bear her a very far way to the east of Martinique."
"Nothing before us then but the South Atlantic."