"Yes, sir, but—"
"And have you not got every modern aid to navigation aboard this ship?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you not supervised the steering and read the log?"
Brodie's face was paler than ever; the First Mate broke in: "I think what Mr Brodie means, sir, is that it's all dead reckoning. We've not had sight of a thing in the last nineteen hours to help us to check our position. It's a tricky run, sir, past the Thames mouth — lot o' banks.—"
"Mr White, after fifteen years as master on this run I don't think I need any lessons in chart-reading. Now, is there anything further you wish to say ?"
"Yes, sir." White's blunt obstinacy was roused by the sarcastic malice of the Captain's manner. "With respect, sir, it's the considered opinion of meself and Mr Brodie that we're standing into danger as we are. We think we should heave-to under engines until the weather clears, or at least until daylight."
"I see." There was a long taut silence as Cameron looked in fury from one set white face to the other. "I shall be writing a special report on this for the Company, and of course I shall enter a record in the ship's log. You gentlemen will find you've done a bad day's work for yourselves today. In the meantime, course is as laid down by me on the chart; and you'll be good enough to call me, Mr White, if the weather clears."
There was another long silence between the two men after he had gone, until White spoke with a gloomy bitterness: "See what I mean? Fat lot o' good that's done us. That's what you get for speaking your mind to that daft old jumped-up swaggering popinjay."
"Ay, ay. You know, we should do something about our own tickets, in case he piles her up."
"I know, mister, I know. Soon as I come off watch I'll write down an account of the warning we gave him; you can witness it, an' we'll both sign it. Then we'll keep it up our sleeves, just in case we're in the dock ourselves one day."
This was only Jim's second voyage, but he knew enough of the sea and its ways to know that it was a sensational scene that he had witnessed. It was not often that a first-rate ship's senior officers openly joined to oppose the Captain. The dramatic scene had enthralled him, but now it was over he felt bewildered and alarmed; if there wasn't a firm chain of authority from the Captain to the deck-boys, what was a ship but an iron shell filled with a rabble? Jim would rather face White at his most brutal than see the same man stand up and almost defy his Captain.
Even his dinner of fresh beef, potatoes and cabbage (only one day out, they still had plenty of fresh "shore" provisions) didn't altogether cheer him. Before turning in just after eight o'clock, he stood for a few minutes by the lee rail, looking ahead and out to starboard, where lay the mysterious dangers which the Mates could foresee. But there was nothing but a void of small, thinly-falling flakes. It was easing; it must clear soon, surely? But would it be in time?
Below him on the long flush of the main-deck a few handfuls of the emigrants still huddled in groups or paced aimlessly up and down. From one of the groups arose the thin mournful notes of a melodeon, playing a Highland lament. It was wet, cold and dangerous on deck, but Jim knew what had driven these men up there: the long, ill-lit holds, roughly fitted with plain deal bunks and flimsy partitions, would now be thick and stifling, crowded with the sick and the elderly, all attempting to sleep through the shrill bedlam of frightened, bored and mischievous children. Overcrowding, dirt, sickness, boredom and irritation — these were the lot of emigrants in weather like this; cattle frequently travelled more comfortably.
Jim's sleep was fitful and uneasy, and the mere footfall of the Bosun's Mate outside jolted him into consciousness. The man grinned broadly: "Quarter to twelve, sir. Still pretty thick on deck. Watch your cup o' cocoa, sir, as you get out. It's a good thing to have inside you when you've got the graveyard watch." Jim was forced to smile sheepishly in return; well, you couldn't deny his friendliness, even if he was too familiar. When the sweet gritty cocoa was drunk he certainly did feel more like facing his middle watch, that long desert of hours from midnight to four o'clock.
When he reached the deck he found Brodie already there talking to MacDougall, and looking — in view of the blow to his career — surprisingly cheerfuclass="underline" "Beginning to look a bit more like it, don't you think, mister? Glass rising steadily now. Snow thinning out — might see some lights yet before we get to the worst of it. Seen anything at all?"
"Not a blasted thing, mister, not a blasted thing. I'm thinking it's a bad business, pounding through this shoal water on a night like this. Ay, a bad business."
"Try telling the Old Man that! He been up lately?"
"Och, he took a few turns up and down about four bells."
"I see you make us six miles south-east-by-south of the Shipwash lightship ?"
"Ay, that's about it!"
"Surely to God we should see the Sunk lightship before long, if it keeps clearing! Only about six miles off to starboard there; chart says it's visible eleven miles."
"Ay, well that's your worry now, thank God. I'm away to get my head down. Course sou'-sou'-west; alter to south-by-west in half an hour. All right, then, mister?"
"Right-o, got the weight. Course sou'-sou'-west. Good-night, Mr MacDougall. You'll have all the Channel to yourself when you come on again in the morning."
"An' a good job too." MacDougall was muttering sullenly as he groped his way to the hatch. "A bad business, skeltering about these shoals. . ." His voice became lost in the wind and sea noises.
"Not so happy tonight, Jim. The Scotch must have run out! Now then, you've got to use your eyes as you've never done before. Seen the chart?"
"No, sir."
"Never come up here without doing that. Well, all along our beam out there to port, about three miles off, is the Inner Gabbard shoal — not a bad one at all. We alter to port, as Dougie said, when we clear the southern end of it. Now the Old Man's idea in altering to port is to keep clear of the really devilish shoals farther ahead to starboard — like the Long Sand and the Kentish Knock. They're real killers — dry right out at low water. Wouldn't mind a sovereign for every good ship that's finished up on those. Still, as I say, that's twenty miles ahead. We've still got a good chance, if we keep our eyes really peeled, of seeing the Sunk. That'd save our bacon, because we could do a running fix on it. Now it's ahead and to starboard. Here's a pair of night-glasses; get over to that starboard rail and get on with it."
"What's its characteristic, sir?"
"Sorry, I forgot. Two flashes every twenty seconds. It should be fairly fine on the starboard bow at the moment."
"Ay, ay, sir." Jim was tense with excitement. His night-vision was excellent, and here at last was the chance to do something, to be the right man for the emergency. Here was a job which he knew he could do better than Brodie and White, for all their seamanship. Steadying himself to the heavy rolling and surging, he began his sweep of the darkness, summoning every effort of concentration, to the task. Slow minutes passed, and his fingers became too numb with the inaction to work the focusing knob of his glasses. Still nothing in sight but a few last snowflakes dancing in the foreground against a back-cloth of black emptiness. The agony of the cold in his finger ends became too much to bear; he lowered his glasses and began to beat his hands together. He didn't want to get caught at this, so he stole a furtive glance over his left shoulder at the still figure of Brodie by the wheel, and it was in this glance that he saw it — the needle-point glitter of a tiny star low in the sky!
"Look, sir!" he yelled. "Astern! It's clearing!" 'By God, you're right, Robbins! Bosun's Mate! My compliments to the Captain — weather clearing to windward."