'Serves him right,' she said.
And it was wonderful how the crew of the Star took the news. They had never seemed so cheerful. They grinned when Watchett came aboard.
'This is an 'orrid circumstance,' said Watchett. 'I never lost a man before, not even when I was wrecked in the Violet. And this a dead calm!'
'Your men aren't happy,' said Mrs. Ryder. 'And you don't try to make 'em. If I give you three seven-pound tins of marmalade and some butter, will you serve it out to them?'
But Watchett shook his head angrily.
'I'll not cocker no men up,' he declared; 'not if they all goes overboard and leaves me and the missis to take 'er home. And what's marmalade against 'eat like this?'
He mopped a melancholy brow and sighed.
'It will help them to keep from gloomy thoughts,' said Mrs. Ryder. 'The Star of the South is a home for our men.'
'And two run in Valparaiso,' retorted Watchett, 'and I lost on'y one.'
He took a drink with his cousin, and went back on board the Battle-Axe, and put the horrid day through in getting a deal of unnecessary work done. And still no flaw of lightest air marred the mirror of the quiet seas. Early in the first watch the boats were lowered again to tow the vessels apart. At midnight, when the watch below came aft and answered to their names in the deep shadow of the moonless tropic night, Ned Tidewell did not answer to his name.