Captain Welfare was keeping his promise.
I watched the process, fascinated at first, infinitely thankful to feel that the load of iniquity which had so burdened my spirit was thus at last cast into the sea and the Astarte purged of sin. But very soon I was recalled to uneasiness.
The curiosity of the silly passengers around me was excited by the process, and I still scented danger in every trivial circumstance connected with the nefarious trade.
“Whatever are they doing?” was the question I heard repeated all around me.
The ship’s officer beside me came unexpectedly to my relief.
“Chucking bad rations overboard,” he replied to one of the more eager questioners.
“Those Levantine schooners,” he added, in an oracular tone, as he turned round from the taffrail to explain to his audience. “Those Levantine schooners always load up with condemned bully and other blown tins to feed their dago crew on. Sometimes they drive it too far, and the stuff gets into such a condition that nobody can live aboard with it. Then it has got to be jettisoned. That is what they are doing. Those fellows drew across to us because they were frightened of a mutiny while they chucked the stuff away.”
He closed his telescope with a snap and looked round impressively, receiving the homage which landsmen pay to the omniscience of the officers responsible for their lives.
Thus was one minor wrinkle of anxiety smoothed away for me.
The Astarte fell rapidly astern, and the setting sun turned her white sails to bronze. In spite of all that had happened I longed to be back aboard her.