I had no answer to this, and we both fell silent.
Singleton was the first to speak:—
“How are you going to get back? The men
can sail a course, but who is to lay it out?
Turner? No Turner ever knew anything about a
ship but what it made for him.”
“Turner is sick. Look here, Singleton,
you want to get back as much as we do, or more.
Wouldn’t you be willing to lay a course, if
you were taken out once a day? Burns is doing
it, but he doesn’t pretend to know much about
it, and—we have the bodies.”
But he turned ugly again, and refused to help unless
he was given his freedom, and that I knew the crew
would not agree to.
“You’ll be sick enough before you get
back!” he snarled.
THE WHITE LIGHT
With the approach of night our vigilance was doubled.
There was no thought of sleep among the crew, and,
with the twilight, there was a distinct return of
the terror of the morning.
Gathered around the wheel, the crew listened while
Jones read evening prayer. Between the two houses,
where the deck was roped off, Miss Lee was alone,
pacing back and-forward, her head bent, her arms dropped
listlessly.
The wind had gone, and the sails hung loose over our
heads. I stood by the port rail. Although
my back was toward Miss Lee, I was conscious of her
every movement; and so I knew when she stooped under
the rope and moved lightly toward the starboard rail.
Quick as she was, I was quicker. There was still
light enough to see her face as she turned when I
called to her:
“Miss Lee You must not leave the rope.”
“Must not?”
“I am sorry to seem arbitrary. It is for
your own safety.”
I was crossing the deck toward her as I spoke.
I knew what she was going to do. I believe,
when she saw my face, that she read my knowledge in
it. She turned back from the rail and faced me.
“Surely I may go to the rail!”
“It would be unwise, if for no other reason
than discipline.”
“Discipline! Are you trying to discipline
me?”
“Miss Lee, you do not seem to understand,”
I said, as patiently as I could. “Just
now I am in charge of the Ella. It does not matter
how unfit I am—the fact remains. Nor
does it concern me that your brother-in-law owns the
ship. I am in charge of it, and, God willing,
there will be no more crimes on it. You will
go back to the part of the deck that is reserved for
you, or you will go below and stay there.”
She flushed with anger, and stood there with her head
thrown back, eyeing me with a contempt that cut me
to the quick. The next moment she wheeled and,
raising her hand, flung toward the rail the key to
the storeroom door. I caught her hand—too
late.
But fate was on my side, after all. As I stood,
still gripping her wrist, the key fell ringing almost
at my feet. It had struck one of the lower yard
braces. I stooped, and, picking it up, pocketed
it.
