‘You’ll keep dressed as you are, Marian,’ said he.
‘Very well, dear, but don’t rate me for being slow.’
I then went down the steps to the little caboose. The fire made a light here. I lighted a lamp, returned to the cabin for some tea, lighted the lamp there and also lighted the binnacle lamp for Will, who told me he was growing confoundedly sick of steering. I told him I’d take a spell at the helm when I had got supper ready. My labours aboard the convict ship had thoroughly qualified me, and no old hand as a steward could have gone to work more adroitly and with a clearer perception of needs. I brought a large pot of tea to the table, rearranged the food that was already there and added to it, and by eight o’clock all was ready and the interior of the deck-house as shining and comfortable a sea-picture as the eye could wish to rest on—quite hospitable and civilised, with a white cloth, good cutlery, and glass and crockery equal to the Childe Harold’s.
Before I was done, however, Tom and Bates had clewed up the maintopgallant-sail and furled it. They had also hauled the mainsail close up to the yard, and I was in the cabin when Tom asked me to hold the wheel that Will might help him furl that big sail. This they accomplished smartly; they were three sailors and strong, and after the rig of the convict ship the brig’s fabric of yards and spars seemed no more than a long-boat’s.
Having got hold of the wheel, I would not let go till one or all of them had supped. I was not hungry, and was much refreshed by my sleep, and I found a sort of pleasure in grasping the spokes and controlling the meteoric flight of the little vessel through the star-clad blowing darkness. I steered her as easily as I had steered a Thames wherry, and was proud and thankful to be of so much importance and use at such a time as this. And there was another feeling that swelled my heart whilst I held that wheel. It was as though Tom were mounted behind me, and I, with the reins in my hand, was thundering him to safety away from all risk and possibility of pursuit, across a boundless dark plain.
Presently Will, with a pipe in his mouth, steps out and lays hold of the wheel.
‘You again,’ said I.
‘Ay,’ said he, ‘but not for long. Get you in, old woman. They’re scheming watches and want you.’
‘Will,’ said I in his ear, ‘not another word against Tristan.’
‘Such a rat-hole to choose!’ said he. ‘No post-office, no bank, no docks, no tea-gardens! He’ll let me get home some day, I hope! But I’m mum on the matter from this moment. I don’t like your looks when you threaten me. You’d slit my throat to please Tom!’