Joe had stationed himself on the larboard bow with his elbows resting upon the bulwark and his chin in his hands, gazing straight away to sea, his eyes fixed a little to the left of the dazzling path of light that extended from the moon to the schooner.
So intent was he upon something he fancied he saw, that he did not hear Rodd’s approach, and started violently upon being touched.
“All right, sir; not asleep,” he cried. “Oh, it’s you, Mr Rodd! I fancied that it was the skipper, who thought he had caught me napping. Just you look yonder, sir. You are coming fresh to it. I have been staring till the little flashes of light make my eyes swim. Now then, just you look about half a cable’s length left of that line of light, and see if you can’t see something breaking water there.”
Rodd gazed intently in the direction indicated for some little time without speaking.
“See anything, sir?” said Joe at last. “No.”
“That’ll do then, sir. It was my fancy. Well, we are having a quiet night of it, sir. No more signs of that old sea bogy, and like enough we shan’t get a squint at it again.”
“I don’t suppose we shall now, Joe.”
“Sleepy, sir?”
“Not a bit, Joe. Here, I want to speak to you about that thing.”
“I am listening, sir. Talk away. Rather queer, warn’t it, to come upon a thing like that just when you didn’t expect it?”