‘I should say not,’ said I; ‘there were breakers in the bottom of the boat, and parcels resembling bread bags aft.’
‘Thirst is a fearful thing at sea, sir,’ said he, slowly: ‘it’s worse than hunger. Hunger, whilst it remains appetite, is agreeable; but the first sensation of thirst is a torture. I have known ’em both—I have known ’em both,’ he added, with a melancholy shake of his head and a profound sigh; then bringing his unwinking stare to bear upon me, he exclaimed: ‘Supposing that shot had taken effect, the Lady Blanche would now be without a master; and if you wasn’t on board, she’d be without a navigator. Less than two sea-going heads to every ship won’t do. I felt that truth when Chicken went, and I’m feeling of it every time I catch sight of that there man Lush.’ Miss Temple and I exchanged glances. ‘Well,’ said he, with one of his mirthless grins, ‘I don’t expect those privateersmen’ll trouble us any more;’ and in his abrupt way he walked to the compass, and stood there looking alternately from it to the canvas.
CHAPTER XXVIII
I QUESTION WETHERLY
It had now become so much one thing on top of another with us, and everything happening in a moment, so to speak, too: first our being left on the wreck all in a breath as it were: then our being picked up by this barque without the dimmest prospect, as my instincts advised me, of our falling in with the Countess Ida this side of Bombay: then our destitute condition aboard a craft whose skipper’s sanity I was now honestly beginning to distrust, and whose people, if he did not lie, were for the most part a gang of scoundrels: then this sudden narrow shave of being boarded by above a score of miscreants whose undoubted hope was to seize the Lady Blanche and to use her in the room of their own extinguished brig; I say it was so much one thing on top of another—a catalogue of adventures scarcely conceivable in these safe-going days of the ocean mailboat, though real enough and in one way or another frequent enough in my time, I mean in the time of this narrative—that I protest something of the dismay which possessed Miss Temple visited me, though I struggled hard in the direction of a composed face, as we talked over the incident of the morning, and took a view of the singular staring figure who had charge of the barque, and directed our eyes at the crew, all hands of whom hung about forward, briskly yarning, as I might suppose, about the Spanish longboat’s attempt (and with God knows what sympathy, I would think, as I peered at the groups), or as we sent our eager gaze into the blue and brilliant ocean distance in search of any little leaning flake of white that might flatter us with promise of escape from our disagreeable situation.
‘I have fully and immovably formed my opinion on two points,’ said Miss Temple to me as we continued to pace the deck together for some half hour after the boat had disappeared astern: ‘one is, that Captain Braine is mad; and the other that he is firmly bent on making you serve him as his mate.’
‘I own that I now believe he is madder than I first suspected,’ I answered. ‘His manner and language to you just now were extraordinary. But as to his employing me as mate—I think this: if the man is crazy, he may easily go wrong in his navigation; if we sight nothing that will carry us home, we must obviously stick to the barque, and her safety, therefore, is ours; consequently, it is desirable, I think, that I should know what her skipper is doing with her from day to day; and this I can contrive by consenting to oblige him with taking sights.’
‘I see what you mean,’ she exclaimed thoughtfully. ‘I had not taken that view; but it is a cruel one to entertain; it implies our remaining on board until—until—— Oh, Mr. Dugdale! this sort of imprisonment for the next two or three months is not to be borne.’
‘Anyway,’ said I, ‘you now understand that our very safety demands we should know where that fellow is carrying his ship. If, then, he should request me to shoot the sun as we call it, you will not be vexed by my compliance?’