It was even more pleasant on deck than it was below, for the hull of the ship had, during the long scorching day, absorbed a considerable amount of heat, which it gave off again during the night, causing the cabins and forecastle to be unpleasantly warm even after all possible means had been adopted for their thorough ventilation, whilst on deck the full benefit of the breeze, what there was of it, was to be obtained.
Such, at all events, was Mr Ritson’s opinion, as he sauntered listlessly fore and aft, between the taffrail and the main-mast, glancing now aloft at the all but idle canvas, then into the binnacle, then over the side at the tiny bubbles creeping lazily past the ship’s side, and finally forward, to where the man on the lookout could be seen seated upon the rail, facing ahead, with his arms folded and his back leaning against the great wooden stock of one of the anchors, his form showing black as that of an ebony statue against the brilliant silvery sheen of the moonlight on the water. The remainder of the crew were dimly visible seated on the deck in the black shadow of the bulwarks, a tiny red spark or two indicating that some of them were solacing the idle hours with a whiff or two of the fragrant weed. Officers who were strict disciplinarians would have forbidden smoking in the watch on deck, and would have insisted on the whole watch keeping constantly on the move, as a safeguard against dozing; but Ritson was not a strict disciplinarian; he liked to spare the men all unnecessary labour of every kind, and, as there was no sail-trimming to be done, he just allowed them to rest their weary bodies as much as they could.
He would have liked greatly to rest his own weary body, too, for indeed he felt it to be almost a torture to be pacing ceaselessly to and fro there on the deck, hour after hour.
He pulled out his watch, the hands indicated that it was ten minutes to ten; it would be full two hours more before he would be relieved. There was a most inviting-looking chair standing on deck near the skylight, which Captain Leicester had been using during the day, and poor Ritson thought how pleasant it would be to rest his tired limbs in it for a few minutes. Then he took a stroll round the decks, just to wile away the time, and to make sure that the watch—and especially the lookout—was not “caulking.” The shadowy figures scrambled somewhat hurriedly to their feet on his approach, giving rise to just the faintest suspicion that perhaps after all they might have been “shutting their eyes to keep them warm;” but the lookout man seemed unconscious of his presence, and was humming, scarcely above his breath, the air of a homely song as Ritson passed him, his gaze resting on a brig ahead, which had been in sight all day, and which, from the fact that she was steering in the same direction as the Aurora, was thought to belong, like themselves, to the dispersed fleet. When Ritson again reached the quarterdeck, it was ten o’clock, so he struck “four bells” sharply; the wheel and lookout were relieved, and then everybody settled down once more, to pass away the remaining two hours of the watch.
As has been already hinted, Ritson was not so strict a disciplinarian as to forbid smoking by the watch on deck, so long, of course, as the smoking was not allowed to interfere with the duty of the ship. Nay, more; he sometimes allowed himself the luxury of a pipe under similar circumstances, and he thought he might safely do so on the present occasion. So, seating himself in the skipper’s chair, he drew out his pipe, tobacco, and knife, and prepared to enjoy his whiff.
Oh! how comfortable a chair that was! How great a relief to sit in it, even for the minute or two during which he was cutting up his tobacco and filling his pipe! This work, though performed with great deliberation, was at length accomplished; his steel and tinder-box furnished him with a light; and he began to smoke.
Somehow he forgot to get up out of the chair again when his pipe was lighted, but, leaning back restfully in it instead, watched the little rings and wreaths of smoke which issued from it and went floating lazily away until they vanished in the soft cool air of the night. Then, by association of ideas, Ritson’s thoughts strayed away to the little flaxen, curly-haired urchin at home, his one-year-old son, who used to be so delighted to watch the wreathing smoke issue from his father’s pipe, that he would crow and jump and kick upon his mother’s knee, until the good woman had hard work to hold him. He fancied he could see the young rascal still, his fat, dimpled cheeks wreathed with smiles of delight, his blue eyes sparkling, and his fat chubby arms and legs flourishing in the air as he made frantic grasps at the little blue smoke-rings floating toward him. Yes; and he could hear Anna’s, his wife’s voice, half-jestingly, half in earnest, scolding the happy father for keeping the child awake. And, letting his thoughts have free play on so pleasant a theme, he could recall the same voice crooning a soothing lullaby to the little fellow as, later on, he nestled into his mother’s breast, tired out with his romp, and softly sank to sleep. Very soothing was that lullaby—very soothing indeed—yes—it was—very—a—very—soothing—little—song—and—and—
And Ritson’s head sank upon his breast, as he, too, yielded to the seductive influence of sleep.
A few feet away stood or rather lolled the helmsman, his body drooping over the wheel, on the upper rim of which he had crossed his arms for the sake of the welcome support. On taking charge of the wheel he had been given the course, and, glancing into the binnacle, he found that the barque was heading in the required direction; upon which, like a good helmsman, he at once selected a star to steer by, a star which was just a finger’s breadth clear of the main-royal yard-arm. By the time that he had been at the wheel a quarter of an hour he discovered that the ship was steering herself, and he accordingly relaxed his vigilance, allowing his thoughts to travel away whithersoever they would. Gradually his weary eyelids closed, and a short period—perhaps a minute or so—of forgetfulness followed, from which he would suddenly start guiltily and glance first aloft at the star, and then at the motionless figure of Ritson. This glance of inquiry showing that the star still occupied its proper position, and that the second mate had not observed his dereliction of duty, the eyelids again closed, and a longer period of forgetfulness would ensue, which of course ended, as it was sure to do, in the man falling soundly asleep as he stood.
As for the man on the lookout, he was notorious for his somnolent powers. He made no pretence of an effort to keep awake. There was no reason, he argued, why he should. It was a fine night, as light as day; there was nothing in sight but the brig ahead, and, although the Aurora was clearly gaining on her, there was no likelihood of her running over her in his watch; therefore to keep a lookout just then was quite a useless formality. Besides, there was the officer of the watch, who would keep all the lookout required on such a brilliantly fine night. And, arguing thus, he settled himself comfortably into the position vacated by his predecessor, and, folding his arms across his breast, tranquilly composed himself to sleep.