“It’ll be a grand sunset to-night, Tommie.”
“The finest kind. But one thing wrong with it.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re not seeing it astern of us.”
The skipper stopped. “Astern? That’s so, too––it is a fine westerly, isn’t it?”
Clancy said nothing, only leaned against the rigging, not a move out of him––puffing his pipe and looking away.
Nobody spoke till the skipper spoke again.
“Who’s to the wheel––you, Steve? How’s she heading now?”
“No’the by west.”
“No’the by west? Put her east by no’the––ease off your mainsheet. Let it go to the knot. Call the gang and make sail––stays’l and balloon––everything––we’ll go home, I guess.”