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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Shake hands," said the wily agent; "and I give you my word of honour, which everybody trusts but you since you came this time, that there will be no trouble made. Now come to the charthouse and take over the cash."
It occurred to him that all this might become monotonous unless he found some actual part in it. Just then Captain Scottie appeared on the bridge, took a quick look round, and joined him on top of the charthouse. "Good morning!" he said. "You won't think me rude if you don't see much of me? Thinking about those ideas of yours, I have come upon some rather puzzling stuff.
This outburst of withering scorn encouraged the pilot to ask what the sailors thought of it. "Go and ask them, if you want to hear something you've never heard before." The captain, who was in the charthouse, could not help hearing these interesting opinions of himself, nor could he help enjoying the rugged humour of them.
The noise of the steward's dish-washing had ceased, and cautious investigation discovered him sound asleep, curled up like a dog, on the deck. Assured as to this, I ventured up the companion stairs, and indulged in a glance forward. Except for a group of sailors doing some sail patching in the shade of the charthouse, no one was visible.
He always slept with one eye open at sea, and as the charthouse was immediately beneath the bridge and the shafting of the wheel and engine-room telegraphs passed within a few feet of his head, he knew at once from their agitated movement when anything really desperate was happening.
A few hardy spirits returned to bed. Meanwhile, in the charthouse, the captain and chief officer were gravely pondering over an open chart, and discussing a fresh risk that loomed ominously before them. The ship was a long way out of her usual course when the accident happened.
With an experience born of many voyages, Brett quickly noted the direction of the wind and the vessel's bearings. A stiff breeze had brought up a moderate sea, and the barrister dumped down his bag and flung himself into a chair on what a novice would regard as the weather side of the charthouse.
Orders were given to the second officer to go aft with a hatchet, and when the signal was given he had to snap the tow-rope of the last felucca. All hands were ordered to lie low i.e., lie under shelter of the bulwarks. The captain and chief officer took shelter on the port side of the charthouse.
Instantly the wind endeavored to tear the charthouse from off the deck. They looked aloft and ahead. The officer on duty saw them and nodded silent comprehension. It was useless to attempt to speak. The weather was perceptibly clearer. Then all three peered ahead again. They stood, pressing against the wind, seeking to penetrate the murkiness in front.
Suddenly they were galvanized into strenuous activity. A wild howl came from the lookout forward. The eyes of the three men glared at a huge dismasted Chinese junk, wallowing helplessly in the trough of the sea, dead under the bows. The captain sprang to the charthouse and signaled in fierce pantomime that the wheel should be put hard over.
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