happen,” wailed the third. “Why do they all have to happen to
me?
”
“You don’t know, shipmate, you don’t know! What’s up?”
“The rev-counter arm worked loose and fell into the crank pit. The I.P. piston grabbed it and hauled counter and all in. Goddlemighty, what goes on here? We jinxed?”
“Seems as though,” I said, and whistled down the captain’s tube to report the latest.
Everything depended on our getting a sun sight now. We might have calculated our speed at least from the revolution readings, a tide chart and propslip table. The admiralty charts don’t give a damn about this particular section of sea water. Why should they? There’s supposed to be a deep around the Madeiras somewhere, but then again there’s flat sand aplenty off Africa. Even the skipper’s luck wouldn’t pull us out of this. I had a feeling. Damn it, we couldn’t even hail a ship, if we met one. It would be bound to turn out a q-ship or a sub-chaser, tickled to death to pinch our cargo. Farm machinery. Phooey!
The saloon messman came up carrying clean sheets for the chart-room cot. I knew what that meant. The bridge was going to be the skipper’s little home until we got out of this—if we did. I was dead beat. Things like this couldn’t happen—they
couldn’t!
We had a council of war that night, right after I came on watch, the captain and I. Nothing had happened all day; the sun came out only once, on the twelve to four, and ducked in again so quickly that Harry couldn’t get to his sextant. He did set the pelorus on it, but the ship rolled violently because of some freak current just as he sighted, and the altitude he got was all off. There’d been nothing else—Oh yes; we’d lost three heaving lines over the side, trying to gauge our speed with a chip. The darnedest thing about it was that everything else was going as well as it possibly could.
The cook had found nine crates of really fancy canned goods in the linen locker—Lord knows how long they’d been there. It was just as if they’d been dropped out of nowhere. The engines ran withouta hitch. The low-pressure cylinder lost its wheeze, and in the washrooms we got hot water when we wanted it instead of cold water or steam. Even the mattresses seemed softer. Only we just didn’t know where we were.
The Old Man put his hand on my shoulder and startled me, coming up behind me in the darkness that way. I was standing out on the wing of the bridge.
“Vot’s de matter; vorried about de veather?” he asked me. He was funny that way, keeping us on our toes with his furies and his—what was it?—kindnesses.
“Well, yes, cap’n. I don’t like the looks of this.”
He put his elbows on the coaming. “I tell y’u boy, ve ain’t got nodding to fret about.”
“Oh, I guess not, but I don’t go for this hide-’n’-go-seek business.” I could feel him regarding me carefully out of the corners of his eyes.
“I vant to tell y’u something. If I said dis to de mate, or Harry, or vun of de black gang, dey vould say: ‘I t’ink de ol’ squarehead is suckin’ vind. He must be gettin’ old.’ But I tell y’u.”
I was flattered.
“Dis is a old ship, but she is good. I am going to be sorry to turn her over to sumvun else.”
“What are you talking about, skipper? You’re not quitting when we get back?”
“No; before dat. Dass all I vorry about, y’u see. Dis vill be de first command I lost half a trip out. I vass master of thirty-two ships, but I alvays left dem in der home port. It von’t be like dat now.”
I was more than a little taken aback. I’d never seen the stringy old gun runner sentimental about his ship before. This was the first time I’d ever heard him mention it in printable terms. But what was all this about losing his command?
“What’s the matter, cap’n—think we’ll go to camp?” That was a
Dawnlight
idiom and meant being picked up by a warship of some kind.
“No boy—nodding like dat. Dey can’t
me?
”
“You don’t know, shipmate, you don’t know! What’s up?”
“The rev-counter arm worked loose and fell into the crank pit. The I.P. piston grabbed it and hauled counter and all in. Goddlemighty, what goes on here? We jinxed?”
“Seems as though,” I said, and whistled down the captain’s tube to report the latest.
Everything depended on our getting a sun sight now. We might have calculated our speed at least from the revolution readings, a tide chart and propslip table. The admiralty charts don’t give a damn about this particular section of sea water. Why should they? There’s supposed to be a deep around the Madeiras somewhere, but then again there’s flat sand aplenty off Africa. Even the skipper’s luck wouldn’t pull us out of this. I had a feeling. Damn it, we couldn’t even hail a ship, if we met one. It would be bound to turn out a q-ship or a sub-chaser, tickled to death to pinch our cargo. Farm machinery. Phooey!
The saloon messman came up carrying clean sheets for the chart-room cot. I knew what that meant. The bridge was going to be the skipper’s little home until we got out of this—if we did. I was dead beat. Things like this couldn’t happen—they
couldn’t!
We had a council of war that night, right after I came on watch, the captain and I. Nothing had happened all day; the sun came out only once, on the twelve to four, and ducked in again so quickly that Harry couldn’t get to his sextant. He did set the pelorus on it, but the ship rolled violently because of some freak current just as he sighted, and the altitude he got was all off. There’d been nothing else—Oh yes; we’d lost three heaving lines over the side, trying to gauge our speed with a chip. The darnedest thing about it was that everything else was going as well as it possibly could.
The cook had found nine crates of really fancy canned goods in the linen locker—Lord knows how long they’d been there. It was just as if they’d been dropped out of nowhere. The engines ran withouta hitch. The low-pressure cylinder lost its wheeze, and in the washrooms we got hot water when we wanted it instead of cold water or steam. Even the mattresses seemed softer. Only we just didn’t know where we were.
The Old Man put his hand on my shoulder and startled me, coming up behind me in the darkness that way. I was standing out on the wing of the bridge.
“Vot’s de matter; vorried about de veather?” he asked me. He was funny that way, keeping us on our toes with his furies and his—what was it?—kindnesses.
“Well, yes, cap’n. I don’t like the looks of this.”
He put his elbows on the coaming. “I tell y’u boy, ve ain’t got nodding to fret about.”
“Oh, I guess not, but I don’t go for this hide-’n’-go-seek business.” I could feel him regarding me carefully out of the corners of his eyes.
“I vant to tell y’u something. If I said dis to de mate, or Harry, or vun of de black gang, dey vould say: ‘I t’ink de ol’ squarehead is suckin’ vind. He must be gettin’ old.’ But I tell y’u.”
I was flattered.
“Dis is a old ship, but she is good. I am going to be sorry to turn her over to sumvun else.”
“What are you talking about, skipper? You’re not quitting when we get back?”
“No; before dat. Dass all I vorry about, y’u see. Dis vill be de first command I lost half a trip out. I vass master of thirty-two ships, but I alvays left dem in der home port. It von’t be like dat now.”
I was more than a little taken aback. I’d never seen the stringy old gun runner sentimental about his ship before. This was the first time I’d ever heard him mention it in printable terms. But what was all this about losing his command?
“What’s the matter, cap’n—think we’ll go to camp?” That was a
Dawnlight
idiom and meant being picked up by a warship of some kind.
“No boy—nodding like dat. Dey can’t
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