“Has it pleased you to do so, Captain Brack?” I asked.
“Decidedly so. I sail light. Men make a slavery of this job of existence because they encumber themselves with laws, gods, and so on. I decided long ago not to be a slave to gods or anything.” He turned upon me with his devilish smile. “Now, Mr. Pitt, it is easy to see, is a slave to his gods.”
“Which gods, for instance.”
He burst into ready laughter, as if I had fallen into a trap he had laid for me.
“The petty, insignificant gods of civilized conduct!”
“Hear, hear!” interjected Chanler, lazily blowing away the smoke. “What you two doing: making religious speeches? ‘God,’ you said. Stow that. There’s no room for gods of any kind on board this boat.”
“Except the gods of science,” laughed Brack.
“Ha! Science! That’s good, awf’ly good, cappy. You don’t know how good that is. I’ll stand for science, cappy, but not religion. Religion sort of suggests conscience, and conscience—m’boy, I cut the chap dead days ago and refuse to be re-introduced. One bottle to science, men, and then it’ll be time to kiss our native land good-by. Pitt, if you’ve a tender woman’s heart pining for you some place, better go send her your farewell message, ’cause cappy and I are going to make a wet evening of it until we sail in the interests of science! Glor-ee-ous, glorious science! Hah!”
I accepted his suggestion eagerly as a means to escape from the cabin. There was no woman pining for me; there was no woman in my life. I had no farewell message to send to any one. While Chanler, Brack and the doctor made merry over their bottle I sought the solitude of the upper deck.
It was a dark night, and a rising wind was blowing in from the sea. Along the water-front lights twinkled and gleamed, mere red-hot dots in the all-encompassing darkness.