Part 11 (1/2)

”Secure amidst perils!” replied Gissing courteously. It was the phrase engraved upon the s.h.i.+p's notepaper, on which he had been writing, and it had impressed itself on his mind.

”You said you had been a General Manager.”

Gissing told, with some vivacity, of his experiences in the world of trade. The Captain poured another small liqueur.

”They're fine halesome liquor,” he said.

”Sincerely yours,” said Gissing, nodding over the gla.s.s. He was beginning to feel quite at home in the navigating quarters of the s.h.i.+p, and hoped the potato-peeling might be postponed as long as possible.

”How far had you got in your essay?” asked the Captain.

”Not very far, I fear. I was beginning by laying down a few psychological fundamentals.”

”Excellent! Will you read it to me?”

Gissing went to get his ma.n.u.script, and read it aloud. The Captain listened attentively, puffing clouds of smoke.

”I am sorry this is such a short voyage,” he said when Gissing finished.

”You have approached the matter from an entirely naif and instinctive standpoint, and it will take some time to show you your errors. Before I demolish your arguments I should like to turn them over in my mind. I will reduce my ideas to writing and then read them to you.”

”I should like nothing better,” said Gissing. ”And I can think over the subject more carefully while I peel the potatoes.”

”Nonsense,” said the Captain. ”I do not often get a chance to discuss theology. I will tell you my idea. You spoke of your experience as General Manager, when you had charge of a thousand employees. One of the things we need on this s.h.i.+p is a staff-captain, to take over the management of the personnel. That would permit me to concentrate entirely on navigation. In a vessel of this size it is wrong that the master should have to carry the entire responsibility.”

He rang for the steward.

”My compliments to Mr. Pointer, and tell him to come here.”

Mr. Pointer appeared shortly in oilskins, saluted, and gazed fixedly at his superior, with one foot raised upon the bra.s.s door-sill.

”Mr. Pointer,” said Captain Scottie, ”I have appointed Captain Gissing staff-captain. Take orders from him as you would from me. He will have complete charge of the s.h.i.+p's discipline.”

”Aye, aye, sir,” said Mr. Pointer, stood a moment intently to see if there were further orders, saluted again, and withdrew.

”Now you had better turn in,” said the skipper. ”Of course you must wear uniform. I'll send the tailor up to you at once. He can remodel one of my suits overnight. The trousers will have to be lengthened.”

On the chart-room sofa, Gissing dozed and waked and dozed again. On the bridge near by he heard the steady tread of feet, the mysterious words of the officer on watch pa.s.sing the course to his relief. Bells rang with sharp double clang. Through the open port he could hear the alternate boom and hiss of the sea under the bows. With the stately lift and lean of the s.h.i.+p there mingled a faint driving vibration.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The first morning in any new environment is always the most exciting.

Gissing was already awake, and watching the novel sight of a patch of suns.h.i.+ne sliding to and fro on the deck of the chart-room, when there was a gentle tap at the door. The Captain's steward entered, carrying a handsome uniform.

”Six bells, sir,” he said. ”Your bath is laid on.”

Gissing was not very sure just what time it was, but the steward held out a dressing gown for him to slip on, so he took the hint, and followed him to the Captain's private bathroom where he plunged gaily into warm salt water. He was hardly dressed before breakfast was laid for him in the chart-room. It was a breakfast greatly to his liking--porridge, scrambled eggs, grilled kidneys and bacon, coffee, toast, and marmalade. Evidently the hards.h.i.+ps of sea life had been greatly exaggerated by fiction writers.

He was a trifle bashful about appearing on the bridge in his blue and bra.s.s formality, and waited a while thinking Captain Scottie might come.

But no one disturbed him, so by and bye he went out. It was a brisk morning with a fresh breeze and plenty of whitecaps. Dancing rainbows hovered about the bow when an occasional explosion of spray burst up into sunlight. Mr. Pointer was on the bridge, still gazing steadily into the distance. He saluted Gissing, but said nothing. The quartermaster at the wheel also saluted in silence. A seaman wiping down the paintwork on the deckhouse saluted. Gissing returned these gestures punctiliously, and began to pace the bridge from side to side. He soon grew accustomed to the varying slant of the deck, and felt that his footing showed a nautical a.s.surance.