But Anthony gave him no attention; he went to Captain Weir and saw he was beyond all aid: to him the words of Weir had been the words of an honest man, resolute in his defense of the right, and Anthony's heart tightened in his chest. But, seaman-like, he looked first at the trim of the sail and then at the compass, which told him the ship was headed far out of the course he had laid down.
"Northwest!" he growled to the helmsman. "Point her that way, and hold her so."
The man's look mocked him, and there was no move to obey; so Anthony drove a blow into his face that spun him away from the wheel. Grim and lowering, the young man set the ship on her course. And while he did this Blake stood leaning with his back to the rail and looking vastly amused.
"Now, by God!" said the pirate, "you are the most satisfactory fellow in the world. One need never cudgel his brains about you; you do precisely the thing expected of you."
With his chin out and a scowl on his brow, Anthony looked at him.
"I hope to be able to say something the same of you," said he. "For I expect you, with no loss of time, to lower a boat and take yourself and your two men out of this ship."
The sun stood red on the eastern edge of the ocean; the wind blew freshly, the ship held upon her altered course, and the sea ran crisply beside her. The brig was frolicking a league away.
Blake shouted with laughter.
"Good!" said he. "Splendid! If heaven had only sent you among a group of play-actors, what a man you'd have been! I'd have enjoyed seeing you, for, comedy deliciously played is a rare thing."
With a turn of the wheel Anthony brought the ship to, and, as she stood with her sails muttering, he called to the two sailors who stood together in the waist, one stanching the flowing blood of the other: