‘What course, sir?’ said the mate.
‘Oh, south—south!’ cried my sweetheart. ‘A sure course for somewhere by-and-by; but to the south’ard now—to the south’ard now!’
The wind was about north-east. Tom put me to the wheel, which was fixed in the old-fashioned style in front of the after-deck house. My sweetheart tried the helm, then bade me hold the spokes, and the three of them squared the yards on the fore and the main masts.
It was the blackest of the dark hours, and the brig slowly floated forward in deep shadow. The only noise was the rippling and jerking of the Childe Harold’s quarter-boat in our wake. Will asked if he should light the binnacle lamp. Tom said no; he’d show no light on deck. The next thing to be done, he said, was to sound the well and make a light secretly in the deck-house cabin to read the rod by. They left me at the wheel, steering by a bright star at the starboard fore-topsail yardarm, and after they had searched a while gropingly for the rod, the mate put his hand upon it. They were obliged to draw the pump to sound. Tom and Bates then carried the rod into the deck-house, where they chipped a light and read the rod by the small glare of a sulphur match.
Tom came out and said to me, ‘There are eighteen inches of water in the hold—nothing to take notice of, if she’s been long abandoned. Johnstone, you and I will take first spell at the pump.’
They drew their coats off, and in a very little while the pump was pulsing steadily to their muscular, sailorly strokes, and the water sobbed as it gushed to the scuppers and spouted into the sea.
‘I don’t care what Captain Butler says,’ exclaimed Mr. Bates, standing alongside of me, ‘there’s the finger of God in this!’ And he pulled off his cap and turned his face up to the stars. ‘There is something solemn and wonderful to me in this escape. Look how it all seems to have been planned. The drunken revelry of the convicts; the light air of wind blowing us into sight of this craft, then falling, as though to leave her within reach of us; then this brig herself, instead of an open boat—not the better for being abandoned, though but for that she’d not be here. I say it’s solemn and wonderful, and I’m grateful!’ And he again upturned his face.
I made no answer.
After a bit, the mate went to the pump, which they plied for some twenty minutes before dropping the rod again, when such a sensible decrease of water was observed as to satisfy Tom and Bates that the brig was tight. At the expiration of half an hour they came to the wheel to rest. Will fetched chairs out of the deck-house and we sat, the mate keeping the wheel steady, though he was seated; indeed, the brig, with square yards and a sea nigh as smooth as a plain of ice, wanted little or no steering.
‘There’s a big sheet of paper lying on the cabin table,’ said my cousin.