"In vain the captain whistled and consulted the dog-vane; in vain the first mate blew up a feather, and cast bits of burnt wood over the side, to watch which way the stream went.
"Some urged that we should sink the boat by scuttling her; but at last Harold Trasnaldson, an old Orkney whaler, red-faced and yellow-bearded, from the Isle of Stronsay, said, openly:
"'This will never do, mates; there's one aboard of us with human blood upon his hands, and the mark of Cain upon his brow, though we can see neither. So here this ship will float, mayhap, till doomsday, for who ever heard of such a calm in these seas?'
"So, in five minutes after this, we were all casting lots at the capstan-head.
"Three times we drew, and three times the fatal lot fell upon me.
"Denial, threats, and entreaty were alike vain. I was roughly hustled overboard into the enchanted boat. Two biscuits, a bottle of water, and an oar were given me, and I was peremptorily ordered to shove off and scull to a distance from the ship, which I was supposed to pollute by my vicinity, and was mockingly desired to keep company with Mother Gary and her chickens, Mr. David Jones, and the Flying Dutchman.
"With a heart bursting with mortification, rage, and many real and imaginary fears, I sculled the heavy boat away from the ship, and, strange to say, in ten minutes after I felt a coolness in the air and saw a catspaw on the water. Gradually it freshened. A breeze came—a breeze at last!
"The sails of the whaler filled; topsails and courses were sheeted home; up went jib and spanker; the ocean began to ripple under her bluff, iron-plated bows, and the crew gave me a cheer of derision, while my poor heart died within me, as she stood away upon her course to the whaling-ground, and ere the sun set, had disappeared, leaving me alone upon the gloomy North Sea.
"I shall never forget, Mr. Ashton, the horror of feeling myself marooned in such a craft, and under such an accusation; and such is the power of imagination, that, as the boat rolled and lurched on the waves of the dark and midnight sea, I almost fancied that I could see, between me and the stars, while crouching in the bow-thwarts, a huge shadowy figure, like the Spirit of Destruction, which haunted the boat of Ronald of the Perfect Hand.
"But when day dawned I saw the rocks of Balta, the most eastern of the Shetland Isles, shining redly at the horizon, and soon after I was picked up by the Thorson, a Danish galliot, bound for Leith, where I was safely landed a few days after."