And I went below to get the things I required, leaving my sextant on deck to show them that I meant to be honest.
When I returned, they were all around the skylight, gazing at the sextant as though it were an animal; no man taking the liberty to touch it, however.
They came, hustling each other about me as I sat on the skylight working out my figures, and I promise you their proximity, coupled with my notion that they might suspect I had been deceiving them, did not sharpen my wits so as to expedite my calculations.
I carried two reckonings in my head—false, and the true; and finding our actual whereabouts to be ninety-eight miles from Bermuda, the islands bearing W.S.W. as straight as a line, I unfolded the chart, and giving them the imaginary longitude and latitude, put my finger upon the spot we were supposed to have reached, exclaiming,
"Now you can see where we are!"
"Just make a small mark there with your pencil, will you?" said Johnson; "then all hands can have a look."
I did so, and quitted the skylight, surrendering the chart to the men, who made a strange picture as they stood poring over it, pointing with their brown forefingers and arguing.
"There's no question I can answer, is there?" said I to the carpenter.
"Mates, is there anything you want to say to Mr. Royle?" he exclaimed.
"When are we going to heave the ship to?" asked Fish.