‘Call it fifteen hundred miles,’ I responded. He nodded in a sort of cunning emphatic way. ‘Nothing remains to be said, I think?’ said I, making a step to the door.
‘Only this,’ said he. ‘I was thinking of asking ye to keep my lookout, acting, as you will be, as my chief mate, but on consideration I believe it’ll be best to wait till we’ve got a new crew afore ye take that duty. Not that the men could object to my calling into Rio on the grounds that you’re aboard and are good enough as a navigator to sarve my turn; because they reckon that you’re to be transhipped along with the lady at the first opportunity. But it’ll be safest, I allow, for you to remain as ye are this side of Rio.’
‘Very well,’ said I; ‘but I can continue to take observations if you like.’
‘Oh yes; there can be no harm in that,’ he answered.
I opened the door.
‘Mr. Dugdale,’ he exclaimed, softening his voice into a hoarse whisper with a sudden expression of real insanity in the gloomy, almost threatening look he fastened upon me, ‘ye’ll recollect the oath you’ve taken, if you please.’
‘Captain Braine,’ I replied with an assumption of haughtiness, ‘I am a gentleman first of all, and my oath merely follows;’ and slightly bowing, I closed the door upon him.
By this time it was nearly dark. I had scarcely noticed the drawing down of the evening whilst in the captain’s cabin, so closely had my attention been attached to him and his words. Indeed, the man had detained me an hour with his talk, owing to his pausings and silent intervals of staring; though the substance of his speech and our conversation could have been easily packed into a quarter that time. I went half-way up the companion steps, but feeling thirsty, descended again to drink from a jug that stood upon a swinging tray. Whilst I filled the glass, my eye at the moment happening to be idly bent aft, I observed the door of the cabin adjoining that of Captain Braine’s to open and a man’s head showed. It instantly vanished. It was too gloomy to allow me to make sure. However, next moment the young fellow Wilkins came out, no doubt guessing that I had seen him, and that he had therefore better show himself honestly.
I was somewhat startled by the apparition, wondering if the fellow had been in the berth throughout our talk, for if so, it was not to be questioned but that he had overheard every syllable, for there was nothing between the cabins but a wooden bulkhead, and the captain’s utterance had been singularly clear, deep, and loud. But a moment’s reflection convinced me that even if he had heard everything, his knowledge (supposing he carried the news forward) would only help to persuade the men that Captain Braine was a madman, and facilitate any efforts I might have to make to deliver myself and Miss Temple from this situation, should Braine’s craziness increase and his lunatic imagination take a new turn. So, that the fellow might not think that I took any special notice of his coming out of that cabin, I asked him in a careless way when supper would be ready. He answered that he was now going to lay the table; and without further words I went on deck.
It was a hot and lovely evening, with a range of mountainous but fine-weather clouds in the west, whose heads swelled in scarlet to the fires of the sun sinking into the sea behind them. In the east the shadow was of a deep liquid blue, with the low-lying stars already coming into their places. The breeze blew softly off the starboard beam, and the barque, clothed in canvas to the height of her trucks and to the outmost points of her far-reaching studding-sail booms, was floating quietly and softly, like some spirit-shape of ship, through the rich and tender tropic blending of nightdyes and westering lights.