I took the wheel from Will, who went to a cabin to sleep. Bates lay down in the berth he had chosen; and Tom’s and my watch began. It was then drawing on to nine o’clock. There was no moon as yet. The wind blew somewhat strong off the quarter, but it came warm. The dew was very heavy; and every time the brig rolled the reflection of a large, beautiful star just past the maintopsail yardarm shot like a summer flash of lightning along the wet deck. The brig was under very easy canvas, though the whole topsail and foresail swept her along in foam. The sea throbbed black over the rails, with here and there a little burst of phosphoric light in some head of curling yeast. Sometimes Tom came to the wheel and held it, and then we talked shoulder to shoulder for half an hour together. Sometimes I’d sit in the cabin for rest and shelter, then steer the brig whilst Tom mounted to the roof of the deck-house to take a view of the sea. About ten I think the moon rose and shone very yellow; the sea looked vast, dark, and lonely when the orb floated clear of the dusky atmosphere over the edge of the ocean, and cast a sickly flickering wake upon the black tremble of waters under her. There was a little clock in the cabin; it had been set right at noon that day: when it was midnight by it I roused Will and the mate, and Tom and I went to sleep in our respective berths. CHAPTER XLI SHE VIEWS THE ISLAND OF TRISTAN D’ACUNHA I fell asleep quickly and my slumber was sweet, for it was one long dream of Tom. Earnest and full of passion at times had been our talk whilst we stood together at the wheel, and the imaginations of my slumber were richly coloured. At four Will awoke me, and I rose with the promptitude of a sailor, and had relieved Mr. Bates at the wheel before Tom came out of his berth. It was very dark. My cousin, instead of going immediately to his bed, went up the steps to the top of the house; he stayed two or three minutes, then putting his head over that we who stood below might hear him, for Tom had now arrived, he cried out: ‘I guess I was right; now I’m sure of it. Captain Butler, there’s a sail dead in our wake, and she seems to be overhauling us hand over fist.’ Tom and the mate ran up; presently Will looked over and called down: ‘Marian, starboard--d’ye understand me?’ I answered by immediately putting the helm over. ‘Steady!’ shouted Tom. I whirled the little wheel back and kept the brig’s head straight at about two points off the course we had been pursuing. ‘Take the wheel, Johnstone,’ Tom cried, ‘and keep your ears open, my lad.’