At sunset, not the faintest glimmer of a sail had been seen, in either direction, and while the breeze held so light it was certain nothing would heave in sight, therefore were the men on the lookout more careless, knowing full well their watchfulness would be vain.
Simon and I had come up from the hold about eight o’clock, having loitered there a certain length of time after the guard was changed, in order to talk with the prisoners, and, coming on to the gun-deck, saw there the men separated in little groups, as they had been almost every night since that Friday mishap.
We knew full well what was the subject of their conversation or discussion, whichever it might be called, and, wearied with the theme, we continued on to the spar-deck, not minded to hear for the hundredth time what fate befell this craft or that, to whose crew had been given an omen similar to the one which came to us shortly after leaving Salem.
Only a small portion of the watch on duty were awake. There was nothing to be done, and the majority of the men, wearied with the work of the day, were taking advantage of every opportunity for cat-naps, when the officers’ backs were turned.
Simon and I, new to the duty of caring for prisoners, were heavy-hearted because of the suffering which we knew the poor fellows were enduring, and felt no desire for slumber. Indeed, had we been so minded, there was nothing to have prevented our turning in at that moment, since we were no longer forced to serve with either watch, save at such times as all hands might be called.
Just abaft the mizzenmast was our favourite lounging-place at such times, and there we went on this night, thinking only of those whom we had left in the ship’s hold, forgetting, for the time being, the evil predictions of Master Josh and his messmates.
I was not conscious of gazing in any one direction. In fact, there was nothing to be seen. Owing to the gloom, the men, as they moved listlessly about, appeared to be faint shadows rather than human beings, and the air was so light that we failed to distinguish the break of foam, as the waves swept either side our craft.
It was as if we were motionless, save for the lazy swell on which the ship rose and fell so gently that one was hardly conscious of any movement.
Simon and I were speaking of what had been told us by one of the prisoners, who, three years before, had been taken out of a British merchantman by one of the king’s ships.