“About thirty degrees, sir.”
“How long is it since you checked his steering?”
Jimmy told him.
“You consider that often enough?”
“I had my eye on the smoke, sir.”
“The smoke? I suppose you know a light breeze is often variable?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jimmy. “She couldn’t swing off much without my noticing it.”
“One wouldn’t imagine so after what I discovered. But I gathered that Evans had been seized in this way during your watch before.”
“Yes, sir,” Jimmy repeated doggedly.
“Didn’t it strike you that your duty was to report the matter? You knew that Evans has a weakness of the heart that may seize him unexpectedly at any time. If it did so when we were entering a crowded harbor or crossing another vessel’s course, the consequences might prove disastrous. In not reporting it you took upon yourself a responsibility I can’t allow my officers. Have you anything to say?” Jimmy knew he could make no answer that would excuse him. When, as is now usual, a fast vessel’s course is laid off in degrees, accurate steering is important, and he had been actuated by somewhat injudicious pity. Evans was a steady man, with a family in England to provide for, and he had once by prompt action prevented the second mate’s being injured by a heavy cargo-sling.