With her anchor at the bow and clothed in canvas to her very trucks, my
command seemed to stand as motionless as a model ship set on the gleams
and shadows of polished marble. It was impossible to distinguish land
from water in the enigmatical tranquillity of the immense forces of the
world. A sudden impatience possessed me.
“Won’t she answer the helm at all?” I said irritably to the man whose
strong brown hands grasping the spokes of the wheel stood out lighted on
the darkness; like a symbol of mankind’s claim to the direction of its
own fate.
He answered me.
“Yes, sir. She’s coming-to slowly.”
“Let her head come up to south.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
I paced the poop. There was not a sound but that of my footsteps, till
the man spoke again.
“She is at south now, sir.”
I felt a slight tightness of the chest before I gave out the first
course of my first command to the silent night, heavy with dew and
sparkling with stars. There was a finality in the act committing me to
the endless vigilance of my lonely task.
“Steady her head at that,” I said at last. “The course is south.”
“South, sir,” echoed the man.
I sent below the second mate and his watch and remained in charge,
walking the deck through the chill, somnolent hours that precede the
dawn.
Slight puffs came and went, and whenever they were strong enough to wake
up the black water the murmur alongside ran through my very heart in
a delicate crescendo of delight and died away swiftly. I was bitterly
tired. The very stars seemed weary of waiting for daybreak. It came at
last with a mother-of-pearl sheen at the zenith, such as I had never
seen before in the tropics, unglowing, almost gray, with a strange
reminder of high latitudes.
The voice of the look-out man hailed from forward:
“Land on the port bow, sir.”
“All right.”
Leaning on the rail I never even raised my eyes.
The motion of the ship was imperceptible. Presently Ransome brought me
the cup of morning coffee. After I had drunk it I looked ahead, and
in the still streak of very bright pale orange light I saw the land
profiled flatly as if cut out of black paper and seeming to float on
the water as light as cork. But the rising sun turned it into mere dark
vapour, a doubtful, massive shadow trembling in the hot glare.
The watch finished washing decks. I went below and stopped at Mr. Burns’
door (he could not bear to have it shut), but hesitated to speak to him
till he moved his eyes. I gave him the news.
“Sighted Cape Liant at daylight. About fifteen miles.”
He moved his lips then, but I heard no sound till I put my ear down, and
caught the peevish comment: “This is crawling. . . . No luck.”
“Better luck than standing still, anyhow,” I pointed out resignedly, and
left him to whatever thoughts or fancies haunted his awful immobility.
Later that morning, when relieved by my second officer, I threw myself
on my couch and for some three hours or so I really found oblivion. It
was so perfect that on waking up I wondered where I was. Then came the
immense relief of the thought: on board my ship! At sea! At sea!
Through the port-holes I beheld an unruffled, sun-smitten horizon. The
horizon of a windless day. But its spaciousness alone was enough to give
me a sense of a fortunate escape, a momentary exultation of freedom.
I stepped out into the saloon with my heart lighter than it had been for
days. Ransome was at the sideboard preparing to lay the table for the
first sea dinner of the passage. He turned his head, and something in
his eyes checked my modest elation.
Instinctively I asked: “What is it now?” not expecting in the least the
answer I got. It was given with that sort of contained serenity which
was characteristic of the man.
“I am afraid we haven’t left all sickness behind us, sir.”
“We haven’t! What’s the matter?”
He told me then that two of our men had been taken bad with fever in
the night. One of them was burning and the other was shivering, but he
thought that it was pretty much the same thing. I thought so, too. I
felt shocked by the news. “One burning, the other shivering, you say?
No. We haven’t left the sickness behind. Do they look very ill?”
“Middling bad, sir.” Ransome’s eyes gazed steadily into mine. We
exchanged smiles. Ransome’s a little wistful, as usual, mine no doubt
grim enough, to correspond with my secret exasperation.