In the after half of the boat were the pilots, making the best of idle time. No steamer was sighted, and so they lounged and smoked. Two or three told of difficulties on past voyages. Two of the stoutest and jolliest were met in permanent conflict over a game of pinochle. One read, the others took down pillows from the bunks, and spreading them out on the wide seat that lined two sides of the room, snored profoundly. Nearly all took turns, before or after games, or naps, at smoking. Sometimes all smoked. It was observable that no “listener” was necessary for conversation. Some talked loudly, without a single person heeding. At times all talked at once in those large imperious voices which seem common to the sea. The two old pilots at cards never halted. Storms might come and storms might go; they paused only to renew their pipes.
At the wheel, in tarpaulin and sou’wester, McLaughlin kept watch. Sea spray kept his cheeks dripping. His coat was glassy with water. Another pilot put his head above deck.
“How are we heading?”
“East by no’.”
“See anything?”
“A steamer, outbound.”
“Which one?”
“The Tauric.”
“Wish she was coming in!” concluded the inquirer, as he went below.
We kept before the wind in this driving way. All the morning and all the afternoon the rain fell. The cook served a wholesome meal of meats and vegetables, and afterwards all pipes were set smoking more industriously than ever. The two old pilots renewed their cards. Every one turned to trifling diversions, with the feeling that he must get comfort out of them. It was a little drowsy, a little uncomfortable, a little apt to make one long for shore. In the midst of the lull the voice of the man at the wheel sounded at the companionway.