"Well, there's a good hour an' a half afore we start; I'll turn in too."
He walked slowly aft, and sliding back the companion-hatch, descended
into a small evil-smelling cabin, and stood feeling in the darkness for
the matches. They were not to be found, and, growling profanely, he felt
his way to the state-room, and turned in all standing.
It was still dark when he awoke, and hanging over the edge of the bunk,
cautiously felt for the floor with his feet, and having found it, stood
thoughtfully scratching his head, which seemed to have swollen to
abnormal proportions.
"Time they were getting under weigh," he said at length, and groping his
way to the foot of the steps, he opened the door of what looked like a
small pantry, but which was really the mate's boudoir.
"Jem," said the captain gruffly.
There was no reply, and jumping to the conclusion that he was above, the
captain tumbled up the steps and gained the deck, which, as far as he
could see, was in the same deserted condition as when he left it.
Anxious to get some idea of the time, he staggered to the side and
looked over. The tide was almost at the turn, and the steady clank,
clank of neighbouring windlasses showed that other craft were just
getting under weigh. A barge, its red light turning the water to blood,
with a huge wall of dark sail, passed noiselessly by, the indistinct
figure of a man leaning skilfully upon the tiller.
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