The men came tumbling out of the fo’c’s’le at the sound of the whistle and the old seadog’s stentorian hail; whereupon the first mate, selecting six of the lot to accompany him, he followed Mr Stokes towards the engine-room hatchway.
Before disappearing below, however, the engineer made a last appeal to the skipper.
“I say, cap’en,” he sang out, stopping half-way as he toddled aft, somewhat disconsolately in spite of the assistance given him, “now won’t you ease down, sir, just to oblige me? The engines won’t stand it, sir; and it’s my duty to tell you so, sir.”
“All right, Stokes; you’ve told me, and may consider that you’ve done your duty in doing so,” replied the skipper, grimly laconic. “But I’m not going to ease down till seven bells, my hearty, unless we run across Dick Haldane’s ship before, when we’ll go as slow as you like and bear up again on our course to the westwards.”
“Very good, sir,” answered the old chief as he lifted his podgy legs over the coaming of the hatchway, prior to burying himself in the cimmerian darkness of the opening, wherein Mr Fosset and his men had already vanished.
“I’ll make things all snug below, sir, and bank the fires as soon as you give the signal.”
With that, he, too, was lost to sight.
The skipper, I could see, was not very easy in his mind when left alone; for he paced jerkily to and fro between the wheel-house and the weather end of the bridge as well as he was able, the vessel being very unsteady, rolling about among the big rollers like a huge grampus and pitching almost bows under water sometimes, though the old barquey was buoyant enough, notwithstanding the lot of deadweight she carried in her bowels, rising up after each plunge as frisky as a cork, when she would shake herself with a movement that made her tremble all over, as if to get rid of the loose spray and spindrift that hung on to her shining black head, and which the wind swept before it like flecks of snow into the rigging, spattering and spattering against the almost red-hot funnels up which the steam blast was rushing mingled with the flare of the funnels below.
After continuing his restless walk for a minute or two, the skipper stopped by the binnacle, looking at the compass card, which moved about as restlessly as the old barquey and himself, oscillating in every direction.
“We ought to have come up with her by now, Haldane,” he said, addressing me, as I stood with Spokeshave on the other side of the wheel-house. “Don’t you think so from the course she was going when you sighted her?”