“Hallo!” exclaimed Mr. Burns in a startled voice. “Calm again!”
I addressed him as though he had been sane.
“This is the sort of thing we’ve been having for seventeen days, Mr. Burns,” I said with intense bitterness. “A puff, then a calm, and in a moment, you’ll see, she’ll be swinging on her heel with her head away from her course to the devil somewhere.”
He caught at the word. “The old dodging Devil,” he screamed piercingly and burst into such a loud laugh as I had never heard before. It was a provoking, mocking peal, with a hair-raising, screeching over-note of defiance. I stepped back, utterly confounded.
Instantly there was a stir on the quarterdeck; murmurs of dismay. A distressed voice cried out in the dark below us: “Who’s that gone crazy, now?”
Perhaps they thought it was their captain? Rush is not the word that could be applied to the utmost speed the poor fellows were up to; but in an amazing short time every man in the ship able to walk upright had found his way on to that poop.
I shouted to them: “It’s the mate. Lay hold of him a couple of you. …”
I expected this performance to end in a ghastly sort of fight. But Mr. Burns cut his derisive screeching dead short and turned upon them fiercely, yelling:
“Aha! Dog-gone ye! You’ve found your tongues—have ye? I thought you were dumb. Well, then—laugh! Laugh—I tell you. Now then—all together. One, two, three—laugh!”
A moment of silence ensued, of silence so profound that you could have heard a pin drop on the deck. Then Ransome’s unperturbed voice uttered pleasantly the words:
“I think he has fainted, sir—” The little motionless knot of men stirred, with low murmurs of relief. “I’ve got him under the arms. Get hold of his legs, someone.”
Yes. It was a relief. He was silenced for a time—for a time. I could not have stood another peal of that insane screeching. I was sure of it; and just then Gambril, the austere Gambril, treated us to another vocal performance. He began to sing out for relief. His voice wailed pitifully in the darkness: “Come aft somebody! I can’t stand this. Here she’ll be off again directly and I can’t. …”
I dashed aft myself meeting on my way a hard gust of wind whose approach Gambril’s ear had detected from afar and which filled the sails on the main in a series of muffled reports mingled with the low plaint of the spars. I was just in time to seize the wheel while Frenchy who had followed me caught up the collapsing Gambril. He hauled him out of the way, admonished him to lie still where he was, and then stepped up to relieve me, asking calmly:
“How am I to steer her, sir?”
“Dead before it for the present. I’ll get you a light in a moment.”
But going forward I met Ransome bringing up the spare binnacle lamp. That man noticed everything, attended to everything, shed comfort around him as he moved. As he passed me he remarked in a soothing tone that the stars were coming out. They were. The breeze was sweeping clear the sooty sky, breaking through the indolent silence of the sea.
The barrier of awful stillness which had encompassed us for so many days as though we had been accursed, was broken. I felt that. I let myself fall on to the skylight seat. A faint white ridge of foam, thin, very thin, broke alongside. The first for ages—for ages. I could have cheered, if it hadn’t been for the sense of guilt which clung to all my thoughts secretly. Ransome stood before me.
“What about the mate,” I asked anxiously. “Still unconscious?”
“Well, sir—it’s funny,” Ransome was evidently puzzled. “He hasn’t spoken a word, and his eyes are shut. But it looks to me more like sound sleep than anything else.”
I accepted this view as the least troublesome of any, or at any rate, least disturbing. Dead faint or deep slumber, Mr. Burns had to be left to himself for the present. Ransome remarked suddenly:
“I believe you want a coat, sir.”
“I believe I do,” I sighed out.
But I did not move. What I felt I wanted were new limbs. My arms and legs seemed utterly useless, fairly worn out. They didn’t even ache. But I stood up all the same to put on the coat when Ransome brought it up. And when he suggested that he had better now “take Gambril forward,” I said:
“All right. I’ll help you to get him down on the main deck.”
I found that I was quite able to help, too. We raised Gambril up between us. He tried to help himself along like a man but all the time he was inquiring piteously:
“You won’t let me go when we come to the ladder? You won’t let me go when we come to the ladder?”
The breeze kept on freshening and blew true, true to a hair. At daylight by careful manipulation of the helm we got the foreyards to run square by themselves (the water keeping smooth) and then went about hauling the ropes tight. Of the four men I had with me at night, I could see now only two. I didn’t inquire as to the others. They had given in. For a time only I hoped.
Our various tasks forward occupied us for hours, the two men with me moved so slow and had to rest so often. One of them remarked that “every blamed thing in the ship felt about a hundred times heavier than its proper weight.” This was the only complaint uttered. I don’t know what we should have done without Ransome. He worked with us, silent, too, with a little smile frozen on his lips. From time to time I murmured to him: “Go steady”—“Take it easy, Ransome”—and received a quick glance in reply.
When we had done all we could do to make
