He looked thoughtfully at the chart as if surveying chances and distances
from a lofty height—and following with his eyes his own figure wandering
on the blank land of Cochin-China, and then passing off that piece of
paper clean out of sight into uncharted regions. And it was as if the
ship had two captains to plan her course for her. I had been so worried
and restless running up and down that I had not had the patience to dress
that day. I had remained in my sleeping-suit, with straw slippers and a
soft floppy hat. The closeness of the heat in the gulf had been most
oppressive, and the crew were used to see me wandering in that airy
attire.
“She will clear the south point as she heads now,” I whispered into his
ear. “Goodness only knows when, though, but certainly after dark. I’ll
edge her in to half a mile, as far as I may be able to judge in the
dark—”
“Be careful,” he murmured, warningly—and I realised suddenly that all my
future, the only future for which I was fit, would perhaps go
irretrievably to pieces in any mishap to my first command.
I could not stop a moment longer in the room. I motioned him to get out
of sight and made my way on the poop. That unplayful cub had the watch.
I walked up and down for a while thinking things out, then beckoned him
over.
“Send a couple of hands to open the two quarterdeck ports,” I said,
mildly.
He actually had the impudence, or else so forgot himself in his wonder at
such an incomprehensible order, as to repeat:
“Open the quarter-deck ports! What for, sir?”
“The only reason you need concern yourself about is because I tell you to
do so. Have them open wide and fastened properly.”
He reddened and went off, but I believe made some jeering remark to the
carpenter as to the sensible practice of ventilating a ship’s
quarter-deck. I know he popped into the mate’s cabin to impart the fact
to him because the whiskers came on deck, as it were by chance, and stole
glances at me from below—for signs of lunacy or drunkenness, I suppose.
A little before supper, feeling more restless than ever, I rejoined, for
a moment, my second self. And to find him sitting so quietly was
surprising, like something against nature, inhuman.
I developed my plan in a hurried whisper.
“I shall stand in as close as I dare and then put her round. I shall
presently find means to smuggle you out of here into the sail-locker,
which communicates with the lobby. But there is an opening, a sort of
square for hauling the sails out, which gives straight on the
quarter-deck and which is never closed in fine weather, so as to give air
to the sails. When the ship’s way is deadened in stays and all the hands
are aft at the main-braces you shall have a clear road to slip out and
get overboard through the open quarter-deck port. I’ve had them both
fastened up. Use a rope’s end to lower yourself into the water so as to
avoid a splash—you know. It could be heard and cause some beastly
complication.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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