Medbury came aft when they had clewed up what remained of the sail. It seemed ludicrous to try to stow that frazzled bit of whipping canvas. He went close to the captain.
"I didn't stow it, sir," he shouted in his ear. "Didn't seem worth while to send a man aloft. No place for him. Nothing but a rag left."
"No, no," the captain roared. "That's right. Don't want to expose anybody more'n we can help." His voice seemed far away—detached, as it were, in some strange manner.
Medbury still lingered near. He was a bit excited, and wished to talk.
"Steer any easier, sir?" he roared.
Captain March nodded, then he leaned toward his mate.
"Yes," he yelled. He nodded aloft. "Been expecting that." Then, for the first time in his life, he became communicative as to his plans at sea. "It's like this," he went on: "We've got five hundred miles to run in this craft or an open boat. I'll make it in this, if I can. Got to take some risk, you know. Can't afford to take in sail as long as she carries it. When it goes of its own accord, well and good. Can't help that."
Medbury had begun to long, with an indescribable sense of weariness, for the coming of day. Once, as he looked eastward, it seemed to him that the curtain of darkness had lifted: the crests of the waves no longer showed a vivid contrast to the black body of the watery waste, but both were fading into a neutral tone of gray, and objects on board began to have more definite outlines. Then all at once the royal flew out of its bolt-ropes, like a hound loosened from its leash, and went twisting and snapping into the night.
Medbury saw the yard lowered to its place and all things made snug forward. As he passed under the foresail to go aft again, he had to brace himself against the wind, which drew under the sail like a great flue. Every cord of the sail seemed vibrant with sound; and as he staggered on, out of the tail of his eye he watched the mainsail tug at its sheet, and boom and gaff swing up like straws. As his head rose above the top of the house, he saw that Captain March's eyes were following him, and he turned his own away.
"If he sees me watching that mainsail," he said to himself, "he'll think I'm wondering why he doesn't take it in." He smiled grimly. "Well, that would be God's truth; but he sha'n't know it." So he stood and gazed steadily seaward.