The watch finished washing decks. I went below and stopped at Mr. Burns’ door (he could not bear to have it shut), but hesitated to speak to him till he moved his eyes. I gave him the news.
“Sighted Cape Liant at daylight. About fifteen miles.”
He moved his lips then, but I heard no sound till I put my ear down, and caught the peevish comment: “This is crawling. . . . No luck.”
“Better luck than standing still, anyhow,” I pointed out resignedly, and left him to whatever thoughts or fancies haunted his awful immobility.
Later that morning, when relieved by my second officer, I threw myself on my couch and for some three hours or so I really found oblivion. It was so perfect that on waking up I wondered where I was. Then came the immense relief of the thought: on board my ship! At sea! At sea!
Through the port-holes I beheld an unruffled, sun-smitten horizon. The horizon of a windless day. But its spaciousness alone was enough to give me a sense of a fortunate escape, a momentary exultation of freedom.
I stepped out into the saloon with my heart lighter than it had been for days. Ransome was at the sideboard preparing to lay the table for the first sea dinner of the passage. He turned his head, and something in his eyes checked my modest elation.
Instinctively I asked: “What is it now?” not expecting in the least the answer I got. It was given with that sort of contained serenity which was characteristic of the man.
“I am afraid we haven’t left all sickness behind us, sir.”
“We haven’t! What’s the matter?”