“Sure! I will,” answered the parson. “It was my advice, and I will take the responsibility of carrying it out,” and he vanished down the companion way.
As he disappeared I went down the poop ladder at a run, hurried forward, and made my way to the forecastle head, where I found the look-out leaning against the guard rail with his arms folded and his chin sunk upon his chest. He was not asleep, for as he heard the light patter of my shoes upon the ladder he straightened himself and turned to see who was coming; but I had a very shrewd suspicion that the stillness of the night had induced in him a condition very much the reverse of alertness.
“Is that Johnson?” I demanded sharply.
“No, sir,” he replied. “I’m Maguire.”
“Then, Maguire,” I said, “I am afraid you have not been keeping quite so wideawake as you ought, considering that it’s your look-out. For instance, have you heard any unusual sounds, such as you ought to have reported, since you came on watch?”
“No, sir,” replied the man. “And as to—”
“That will do,” I interrupted. “Now, pull yourself together and listen.”
We both set ourselves intently to listen, but before half a dozen seconds had passed I heard loud voices—those of Monroe and the boy, and, almost immediately afterward, that of Mrs Vansittart—the parson’s in remonstrance, the boy’s in loud and angry protest, and that of the lady in anxious enquiry. It seemed as though Monroe had somehow mismanaged his rather delicate task, for as I started to go aft again I heard the lad shout, “I will go on deck if I feel like it, and you, Monroe, aren’t going to stop me. And as for the Britisher, do you think I care what he says?” But here Mrs Vansittart cut in with an injunction to Julius to hold his tongue, following it up with an enquiry as to what all the fuss was about. I felt that it was time I took a hand; so, cautioning Maguire to keep a bright look-out and listen for all he was worth, I sprang down the forecastle ladder on my way aft. And as I did so I ran into a couple of men who had just crept out from beneath the launch, evidently curious to learn what the disturbance was about.
Halting for a moment, I ordered the two men to rouse the watch quietly, and stand by for an “All hands” call, and then continued on my way aft, meeting the trio just by the foot of the poop ladder. Mrs Vansittart was evidently in something of a temper, for, as I joined the party, she turned sharply and demanded:
“Is that Mr Leigh?”