"What did you do with her?" asked the captain. "I forgot all about her."
"Oh, I gave her to the steward; she was half-starved."
"All right," said the captain; "all right." Then he went below. It was the last bit of sleep he was to get for many an hour.
With started sheets and a freshening breeze, the brig began the song of the road. The laced foam went hissing past her sides, flecked here and there with spots of phosphorescent light; under her fore-foot was the growl of the heaped-up, rolling wave; now and then the shock of a higher sea, thrown back from her bows in a smother of spray, shook her from stem to stern. The fog had gone with the coming of wind, but the rack, like a flock of birds, swept by overhead. The wind began to sigh and whine in the rigging; with a tremulous, muffled roar the canvas strained and thundered: but through every other noise, insistent, penetrating, sounded the steady thump of the pumps and the rush of water from the spouts.
Once Medbury came aft after changing the men at the pumps, and stopped at the corner of the house to look aloft; he had felt the deck swinging wide under his feet.
"Steady, man! steady!" he called to the man at the wheel. "Don't let her yaw!"
He watched the sails for a moment, turning at last with a sigh of satisfaction to Drew, who was standing near.
"She's picking up her skirts like a little lady," he said. His tone was almost exultant.
"It's good to feel the rush of movement again," said Drew; "but I'm a little bewildered yet, it has come and gone so quickly—this strange experience."
"That's the way with things at sea," replied Medbury. "We're always expecting things to happen, and surprised when they come. But I don't know as it's much different with life in general," he added gloomily. "Trust in nothing—that's the only way to escape being disappointed. Trust in nothing, and be prepared for the worst."