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I
Themomentofvainexclamationswaspast,too.IonlyclimbedonthesparesparandleanedovertherailasfarasIcould,tobringmyeyesnearertothatmysteryfloatingalongside.
Ashehungbytheladder,likearestingswimmer,thesealightningplayedabouthislimbsateverystir;andheappearedinitghastly,silvery,fishlike.Heremainedasmuteasafish,too.Hemadenomotiontogetoutofthewater,either.Itwasinconceivablethatheshouldnotattempttocomeonboard,andstrangelytroublingtosuspectthatperhapshedidnotwantto.Andmyfirstwordswerepromptedbyjustthattroubledincertitude.
“What’sthematter?”Iaskedinmyordinarytone,speakingdowntothefaceupturnedexactlyundermine.
“Cramp,”itanswered,nolouder.Thenslightlyanxious,“Isay,noneedtocallanyone.”
“Iwasnotgoingto,”Isaid.
“Areyoualoneondeck?”
“Yes.”
Ihadsomehowtheimpressionthathewasonthepointoflettinggotheladdertoswimawaybeyondmyken—mysteriousashecame.But,forthemoment,thisbeingappearingasifhehadrisenfromthebottomofthesea(itwascertainlythenearestlandtotheship)wantedonlytoknowthetime.Itoldhim.Andhe,downthere,tentatively:
“Isupposeyourcaptain’sturnedin?”
“Iamsureheisn’t,”Isaid.
Heseemedtostrugglewithhimself,forIheardsomethinglikethelow,bittermurmurofdoubt.“What’sthegood?”Hisnextwordscameoutwithahesitatingeffort.
“Lookhere,myman.Couldyoucallhimoutquietly?”
Ithoughtthetimehadcometodeclaremyself.
“Iamthecaptain.
