“I’m not eighteen, I’m twenty!� she cried, and then we both laughed as we turned to a step that sounded on deck alongside us.
It was Stroth. But he continued his way forward, paying no attention to us. We kept watching him, though, for purpose rang in his step.[Pg 47]
To a gesture, one of the sailors cast loose the foghorn which had been lashed to the bitts during our run in the fog. The fellow disappeared with it down the forecastle hatch; then reappeared next instant, and extinguished the side lights, which, to avoid collision from coasting schooners, had been rigged to jury fixtures at the rails.
Disappearing once more to the hold, he doused the forecastle light also, and a turn of inquiry I made aft showed that the main cabin was likewise dark.
Not a glimmer anywhere showed from this low, black, smooth-running cripple as she veered northward and pointed for the inlet.
Even the clouds favored that short passage, for a husky, gray-cotton one billowed across the moon just as we neared the strait.
At that minute I felt Stroth beside me.
“Know the channel in here, sir?� said I.
“Well, rather,â€� he replied. “Besides, the Ruby Light draws little more than three feet—built for Florida waters, you know.â€�
Then he strode from us, and took the wheel from Stevens. It was easy enough to see who was the real captain.