“Well,” Joan said with a sigh, “I’ve
shown you hustling American methods that succeed and
get somewhere, and here you are beginning your muddling
again.”
Five days had passed, and she and Sheldon were standing
on the veranda watching the Martha, close-hauled
on the wind, laying a tack off shore. During
those five days Joan had never once broached the desire
of her heart, though Sheldon, in this particular instance
reading her like a book, had watched her lead up to
the question a score of times in the hope that he
would himself suggest her taking charge of the Martha.
She had wanted him to say the word, and she had steeled
herself not to say it herself. The matter of
finding a skipper had been a hard one. She was
jealous of the Martha, and no suggested man
had satisfied her.
“Oleson?” she had demanded. “He
does very well on the Flibberty, with me and
my men to overhaul her whenever she’s ready to
fall to pieces through his slackness. But skipper
of the Martha? Impossible!”
“Munster? Yes, he’s the only man
I know in the Solomons I’d care to see in charge.
And yet, there’s his record. He lost the
Umbawa—one hundred and forty drowned.
He was first officer on the bridge. Deliberate
disobedience to instructions. No wonder they
broke him.
“Christian Young has never had any experience
with large boats. Besides, we can’t afford
to pay him what he’s clearing on the Minerva.
Sparrowhawk is a good man—to take orders.
He has no initiative. He’s an able sailor,
but he can’t command. I tell you I was
nervous all the time he had charge of the Flibberty
at Poonga-Poonga when I had to stay by the Martha.”
And so it had gone. No name proposed was satisfactory,
and, moreover, Sheldon had been surprised by the accuracy
of her judgments. A dozen times she almost drove
him to the statement that from the showing she made
of Solomon Islands sailors, she was the only person
fitted to command the Martha. But each
time he restrained himself, while her pride prevented
her from making the suggestion.
“Good whale-boat sailors do not necessarily
make good schooner-handlers,” she replied to
one of his arguments. “Besides, the captain
of a boat like the Martha must have a large
mind, see things in a large way; he must have capacity
and enterprise.”
“But with your Tahitians on board—”
Sheldon had begun another argument.
“There won’t be any Tahitians on board,”
she had returned promptly. “My men stay
with me. I never know when I may need them.
When I sail, they sail; when I remain ashore, they
remain ashore. I’ll find plenty for them
to do right here on the plantation. You’ve
seen them clearing bush, each of them worth half a
dozen of your cannibals.”
So it was that Joan stood beside Sheldon and sighed
as she watched the Martha beating out to sea,
old Kinross, brought over from Savo, in command.
