It was a lie on Stevens’ part, but it was a lie that I rather rejoiced in, for it certainly would not do to have the shore wireless suspect who we were. I knew Pawlinson well enough by now not to want that.
And so, with the whimsicality of her temperament, she offered to compromise for her disappointment if she could have a “trick” at the wheel.
“Oh, that’ll be easy enough,” agreed Stevens, glad to shift the topic as he motioned the fellow at the helm to one side.
And the next two minutes proved that she knew that game well. I can see her now, braced to the roll—her little hands clutching the spokes sturdily—her eyes with[Pg 46] the upward minding of the mainsail’s quivering luff, for we were sailing a taut full-and-by.
There was a girl for you!
I have never witnessed a more violent shift of weather in such latitude, or a more sudden.
Perhaps it was because the fog bank had kept it from us longer than we supposed, and only lifted just in time to give us our slight warning.
For that fog did suddenly clear, though it cleared but for another and greater blackness.
As lowering and menacing a thunderhead as ever whipped out of the northwest was all but upon us.
Now, all this rot in books about even the very seconds being precious makes me tired, for you usually have plenty of time to snug down for a blow.