“He does know it. And he loves it. That is why he has come back to it. All his people before him were sea folk. His grandfather, Anthony West, made forty-six voyages between 1801 and 1847. And his father, Robert, sailed master to the north-west coast before the gold days and was captain of some of the fastest Cape Horn clippers after the gold discovery. Elijah West, father’s great-grandfather, was a privateersman in the Revolution. He commanded the armed brig _New Defence_. And, even before that, Elijah’s father, in turn, and Elijah’s father’s father, were masters and owners on long-voyage merchant adventures. “Anthony West, in 1813 and 1814, commanded the _David Bruce_, with letters of marque. He was half-owner, with Gracie & Sons as the other half-owners. She was a two-hundred-ton schooner, built right up in Maine. She carried a long eighteen-pounder, two ten-pounders, and ten six-pounders, and she sailed like a witch. She ran the blockade off Newport and got away to the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay. And, do you know, though she only cost twelve thousand dollars all told, she took over three hundred thousand dollars of British prizes. A brother of his was on the _Wasp_. “So, you see, the sea is in our blood. She is our mother. As far back as we can trace all our line was born to the sea.” She laughed and went on. “We’ve pirates and slavers in our family, and all sorts of disreputable sea-rovers. Old Ezra West, just how far back I don’t remember, was executed for piracy and his body hung in chains at Plymouth. “The sea is father’s blood. And he knows, well, a ship, as you would know a dog or a horse. Every ship he sails has a distinct personality for him. I have watched him, in high moments, and _seen_ him think. But oh! the times I have seen him when he does not think—when he _feels_ and knows everything without thinking at all. Really, with all that appertains to the sea and ships, he is an artist. There is no other word for it.” “You think a great deal of your father,” I remarked. “He is the most wonderful man I have ever known,” she replied. “Remember, you are not seeing him at his best. He has never been the same since mother’s death. If ever a man and woman were one, they were.” She broke off, then concluded abruptly. “You don’t know him. You don’t know him at all.” CHAPTER XXVIII. “I think we are going to have a fine sunset,” Captain West remarked last evening. Miss West and I abandoned our rubber of cribbage and hastened on deck. The sunset had not yet come, but all was preparing. As we gazed we could see the sky gathering the materials, grouping the gray clouds in long lines and towering masses, spreading its palette with slow-growing, glowing tints and sudden blobs of colour.