‘Is the vessel in danger?’ she asked.
‘Oh dear, no,’ I replied; ‘the breeze has freshened considerably, and the men are shortening sail. But this light is truly abominable. We shall require to be able to see clearly presently.’ And with that I took out the candle and lighted the cabin lamp with it.
‘I have been every moment expecting to see that door open, and his figure creep out!’ said Miss Temple, pointing with a shudder, and without looking, towards the captain’s berth. ‘Do you believe he has shot himself?’
‘Not a doubt of it. Why should his door be locked? I should know he has destroyed himself without being able to make a guess at his method of doing so, but for your saying that you heard the report of a pistol.’
‘I assuredly heard it, Mr. Dugdale. I was awake. I have not slept since I lay down. The sound was like the crack of a whip over my head.’
Just then the carpenter roared out some fresh orders. The barque, relieved of her mainsail and topgallant-sail, had recovered from her perilous heel, and was thrashing through it with what seemed a stubborn erectness of spar after the recent wild slope of her masts. The sea was rising, and the vessel was beginning to pitch with some spite in the chopping and smiting shear of her clipper bows, from which the surge recoiled in thunder, washing aft in boiling spume with a sound like the fall of the hail and rain of an electric storm. I could tell without needing to look that Mr. Lush’s latest order concerned the reefing of the foretopsail. At all events, he had his little ship well in hand, and the whole of the vessel’s small crew were on deck to run about to his directions, and there was some comfort to be got out of knowing this.
To satisfy a small doubt that had arisen, I stepped once again over to the captain’s cabin and hammered loud and long upon the door, shouting out his name, and then trying the handle; but to no purpose.
‘For what new horrors are we reserved?’ cried Miss Temple. ‘Shall we ever escape with our lives? How much has been compressed within the last few days: the dead body on the wreck—the drowning of the poor lieutenant—the loss, perhaps, of Mr. Colledge and the sailors in the man-of-war’s boat—and now this!’ she cried, bringing her hands to her face with a sudden convulsive, tearless sob; then looking at me she said: ‘If Captain Braine has killed himself, what is to follow?’
‘Rio,’ I answered. ‘I shall carry the ship there straight. Thank God for such knowledge of navigation as I possess! I trust the captain may not have killed himself; but if he has done so, it will make for our good. He was a madman, and it was impossible from hour to hour to be sure of his intentions.’
‘But, Mr. Dugdale, there will be no head to the ship if the captain be dead. Who, then, is to control the crew—this crew of convicts and mutineers and—and?’——