“I’m glad you take such an interest in my future,” I said, rather shortly.
He turned full upon me, and I saw his eyes shine in the light. “Look here, Heywood, I don’t deserve that. You’ve got a bad memory. I may have been a fool to let off about myself. I reckon I was, but I’ve liked you, and there’s not a damn thing aboard here I ever could like except you. I say again, it’ll be best for you if you jump her at Nassau.”
“Well,” I said, “Tim, I’m pretty mean to say you no after saving me from that Watkins’s carver, though I reckon I could take care of the old duffer even if he had forty knives. I didn’t mean to rough you, for it’s with you whether I go or not. I’d stay aboard to be with you, and that’s saying a bit more than I’ve said to any man for some time.”
He gazed steadily at me, and I thought his eyes had a wistful look. Then he spoke low in a voice I could hardly hear.
“I’m glad you like me, Heywood. Maybe we’ll go together. Yes, we might go together. Afterward--afterward--you won’t mind a feller being, so to say, a bit outside the law. There’ll be a line for my neck, you know, if--well, no matter. If you stay in the ship, there’ll be one for all hands, if there’s any faith to be placed in signs.”
Then we remained silent for a long time. I thought of Watkins and his dastardly attempt upon me, and wondered if Tim was not a bit off in his mind. But when I remembered the lost socks, I knew he was not mistaken, for a sailor would hesitate a long time before throwing his last pair away. The danger must have been imminent. It was a queer ship. That was certain. Half her crew had been shipped by fraud, and her alleged owners were not above reproach. As to her captain, there was nothing he was not capable of, provided it was wrong, in spite of his years and mask-like face, withered and bare as a sun-scorched lemon. We must have been asleep when the watch was called, for I remember nothing of the bells, and suddenly found myself looking into the rising sun, which shone with unusual vigour over a windy sea.
Tim was just in the act of going below as I looked at the forecastle scuttle. His face seemed pale and drawn, but he smiled as he dived down the companion-way.
“You can get those gun-covers laced fast before we start washing down decks,” said Mr. Gull, coming to the edge of the forecastle, and I was soon on the main-deck with my trousers up to my knees, enjoying the rushing warm sea water the watch were flinging along the gangway, following it aft with squeegee and swab until the planks were spotless.
How refreshing is that breeze of the early day at sea! The lines, all damp with the salt dew of the night, hum a note of gladness to welcome the rising disc of light. The brisk sea wind freshens, wrinkling the broad ridges rushing before it, and brushing their white crests into a wide spread of glittering jewels that flash, sparkle, and hiss in the growing light. The air braces the tired body, and the appetite grows keen. The men of the morning watch take on new life, and all eyes begin to cast looks at the galley stovepipe, watching for the increasing volume of smoke outpouring that tells of the preparation of the morning meal.