At ten Banks was jovial and got his voice back. At noon he was anxious. By four o'clock he shortened sail again.
"We've overrun 'em," he said sadly. "If they're still about, we're to the west of 'em. Mr. Green, during the night we'll stand under easy sail to the eastward. I'm set on seeing those rocks again, if I lose a week."
And the night fell darkly.
No matter whose watch it was, mate's or second mate's, the white-whiskered skipper was on deck every ten minutes, peering into the black darkness with his glasses. The old chap's nerves were on edge; his imagination flamed; he saw reefs and pinnacles of islands every moment, and heard the boom of breakers.
When Green relieved his subordinate at midnight, the second mate whispered to him:
"The old man's as nervous as a cat. To hear him jaw you'd think the bottom of the sea was rising up. Mind you ain't high and dry on a new continent by daylight."
"We'll whack it out fair among the lot of us," said Green. "Jeewhillikins, what's that?"
He spoke suddenly, in an altered voice, and Milton jumped.
"What?"
"I thought I saw a flare to the southward."