It was barely an hour after sunrise.The doctor waved his big arm to me from the shore and walked back at once to his trap, which had followed him empty to the river-side.Mr.Burns, carried across the quarter-deck, had the appearance of being absolutely lifeless.Ransome went down to settle him in his cabin.I had to remain on deck to look after the ship, for the tug had got hold of our tow-rope already.
The splash of our shore-fasts falling in the water produced a complete change of feeling in me.It was like the imperfect relief of awakening from a nightmare.But when the ship's head swung down the river away from that town, Oriental and squalid, I missed the expected elation of that striven-for moment.What there was, un-doubtedly, was a relaxation of tension which trans-lated itself into a sense of weariness after an in-glorious fight.
About midday we anchored a mile outside the bar.The afternoon was busy for all hands.
Watching the work from the poop, where I re-mained all the time, I detected in it some of the languor of the six weeks spent in the steaming heat of the river.The first breeze would blow that away.Now the calm was complete.I judged that the second officer--a callow youth with an unpromising face--was not, to put it mildly, of that invaluable stuff from which a commander's right hand is made.But I was glad to catch along the main deck a few smiles on those seamen's faces at which I had hardly had time to have a good look as yet.Having thrown off the mortal coil of shore affairs, I felt myself familiar with them and yet a little strange, like a long-lost wanderer among his kin.
Ransome flitted continually to and fro between the galley and the cabin.It was a pleasure to look at him.The man positively had grace.He alone of all the crew had not had a day's illness in port.But with the knowledge of that uneasy heart within his breast I could detect the restraint he put on the natural sailor-like agility of his movements.It was as though he had something very fragile or very explosive to carry about his person and was all the time aware of it.
I had occasion to address him once or twice.He answered me in his pleasant, quiet voice and with a faint, slightly wistful smile.Mr.Burns appeared to be resting.He seemed fairly comfortable.
After sunset I came out on deck again to meet only a still void.The thin, featureless crust of the coast could not be distinguished.The darkness had risen around the ship like a mysterious emana-tion from the dumb and lonely waters.I leaned on the rail and turned my ear to the shadows of the night.Not a sound.My command might have been a planet flying vertiginously on its appointed path in a space of infinite silence.I clung to the rail as if my sense of balance were leaving me for good.How absurd.I failed nervously.
"On deck there!"
The immediate answer, "Yes, sir," broke the spell.The anchor-watch man ran up the poop ladder smartly.I told him to report at once the slightest sign of a breeze coming.
Going below I looked in on Mr.Burns.In fact, I could not avoid seeing him, for his door stood open.The man was so wasted that, in this white cabin, under a white sheet, and with his diminished head sunk in the white pillow, his red moustaches captured their eyes exclusively, like something arti-ficial--a pair of moustaches from a shop exhibited there in the harsh light of the bulkhead-lamp without a shade.
While I stared with a sort of wonder he asserted himself by opening his eyes and even moving them in my direction.A minute stir.
"Dead calm, Mr.Burns," I said resignedly.
In an unexpectedly distinct voice Mr.Burns be-gan a rambling speech.Its tone was very strange, not as if affected by his illness, but as if of a differ-ent nature.It sounded unearthly.As to the matter, I seemed to make out that it was the fault of the "old man"--the late captain--ambushed down there under the sea with some evil intention.
It was a weird story.
I listened to the end; then stepping into the cabin I laid my hand on the mate's forehead.It was cool.He was light-headed only from extreme weakness.Suddenly he seemed to become aware of me, and in his own voice--of course, very feeble --he asked regretfully:
"Is there no chance at all to get under way, sir?""What's the good of letting go our hold of the ground only to drift, Mr.Burns?" I answered.
He sighed and I left him to his immobility.His hold on life was as slender as his hold on sanity.Iwas oppressed by my lonely responsibilities.Iwent into my cabin to seek relief in a few hours'
sleep, but almost before I closed my eyes the man on deck came down reporting a light breeze.
Enough to get under way with, he said.
And it was no more than just enough.I ordered the windlass manned, the sails loosed, and the top-sails set.But by the time I had cast the ship Icould hardly feel any breath of wind.Neverthe-less, I trimmed the yards and put everything on her.I was not going to give up the attempt.
