“What, then,” asked Vytal, “if you object not to the inquiry of one who studies that he may duly practise, what, then, are the main rules we observe?”
To this the master made no answer, but, with an air of indulgent patronage, handed Vytal several sheets of paper well filled with writing. The soldier glanced over them, and read among others the following orders: “That every evening the fly-boat come up and speak with the Admiral, at seven of the clock, or between that and eight; and shall receive the order of her course as Master Ferdinando shall direct. If to any man in the fleet there happen any mischance, they shall presently shoot off two pieces by day, and if it be by night two pieces and show two lights.”
When Vytal had read these and many similar articles he turned slowly to Ferdinando. “A careful system. Is it all from your own knowledge?”
“From whose else, think you?”
“I make no conjecture, but only ask if it be yours and yours alone.”
“It is,” replied Simon, and turning to John White, the governor, who had said little, he added, “Your assistant, worshipful sir, seemingly hath doubt of my word.” White turned to Vytal questioningly.
“Nay,” observed the soldier, “I would show no doubt whatever,” and so saying he left the cabin.
Similar conversations followed on subsequent evenings, Ferdinando boasting much of his seamanship; and once the governor went out with Vytal from the room of state. “You mistrust our ship’s master, Captain Vytal, although you would show it not on considering the expedience of harmony. Wherefore this lack of faith?”
“Because the orders and articles are framed exactly upon the plan of those issued by Frobisher in 1578, when he sought a northwest passage, and by Sir Humphrey Gilbert in 1583, changed, of course, to suit our smaller fleet. The worthy Ferdinando has effected a wise combination; he has done well—and lied in doing it.”
The governor looked up into Vytal’s dark face for the first time, searchingly. “How came you to know?” he queried.