Part 54 (1/2)

”Beg pardon, Captain, but would you mind reading out the question once again?”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile pa.s.sed over the Captain's face.

The two old skippers, Olsen and Wleugel, sat solemn as owls. Dirrik looked at the examiner, then at the censor, and finally his glance rested on us, with an expression of helpless resignation. Rudolf nodded, and whispered ”Cheer up,” but Dirrik neither saw nor heard.

”Compa.s.s,” he murmured--”Compa.s.s needle--points--points....”

”Well,” said the examiner, ”_why_ does it always point to the north?”

And suddenly Dirrik's face lit up with a flash of blessed inspiration:

”Why,” he said cheerfully, ”I suppose it's _just a habit it's got_.”

This time the examiner could not help laughing, and the censors themselves seemed to thaw a little.

”H'm,” said the examiner. ”Yes ... well, and suppose your compa.s.s needle happened to forget that little habit it's got, as may happen, for instance, when a vessel's loaded with iron--what would you do?”

Evidently he was in a good humour now.

”Sail by the sun and the watch,” answered Dirrik promptly. He was wide awake now, and drew out as he spoke a big silver watch with a double case.

”I've sailed by this fellow here from the Newfoundland Bank to Barrow in twelve days--it was with the barque _Himalaya_, of Holmestrand.”

”When was that?” asked the examiner.

”Seven years ago come Christmas it was.”

Dirrik felt himself now master of the situation, and ran on gaily, as one thoroughly at ease.

”It was blinding snow on the Banks that time. The skipper was down with inflammation of the lungs, and lay in his bunk delirious; we'd s.h.i.+pped some heavy seas, and got four stanchions broken, and the mate with four of his ribs bashed in, so he couldn't move. And as for the crew, the less said about them the better. We'd three n.i.g.g.e.rs aboard and an Irishman, and a couple of drunken gentlemen that'd never been to sea before.