The wheelhouse was quiet. From other parts of the ship he could hear voices, and from the galley came the occasional sounds of breaking china.
The clock struck three bells. Snow began to splatter on the window glass and whiten the decks. He could see only a few yards ahead. The sea had gotten no rougher, though, and the wind was dying down. He looked out into the whiteness and thought of nothing.
Martin came out of his cabin. “How’s it going?” he asked.
“Pretty good. Some snow just came up. We’ll be off Point Kada in five minutes.”
“That’s good time. Want me to take over for a while?”
Evans was surprised. Martin usually slept until his watch began at noon. It was unusual for him to be helpful. “Sure. Fine. Thanks,” he said, and he went below.
The cook was swearing at the stove. The pots slid dangerously back and forth over the stove. Evans passed quickly through the galley.
In the salon the Chaplain and the young Lieutenant sat. There was an open book on the Chaplain’s lap, but he did not seem to have been reading. He appeared ill. Lieutenant Hodges on the other hand was enjoying himself. He was watching the waves hit against the stern.
The salon was lighted by one electric bulb. Everything looked shapeless in the sickly light: the rack where the tattered library of the ship was kept, the wooden chairs piled on the two tables, the two men sitting in one corner, all this looked gloomy and strange to him. He flipped on another light and the place became cheerful.
“Quite unpleasant, isn’t this?” Chaplain O’Mahoney remarked. He closed the book on his lap.