saw the lights?”
“Preston over there,” said Mr. Sinclair. “It was Preston.”
“I did. I’m not making anything up.” Mr. Preston was an earnest, round-faced man who seemed perpetually out of breath.
“Which direction were they?” asked Mrs. Grant in a voice one might use to ask the way to a hotel. “See if you can remember.” Mr. Preston looked immensely relieved and said, “Five points off the wind.” Mr. Hardie had told us how to apply the degrees of a circle or the hands of a clock to locate objects with relation to the wind or to the nose of the boat, so when Mr. Preston said this, we all craned our necks toward the starboard bow as if something might be seen there now. There was an air of unrelenting gravity about Mrs. Grant, a solemnity she conferred on whomever she addressed, and I could see at once that this sort of respect for his viewpoint was all Mr. Preston wanted.
Hardie said, “In the last hour the wind’s shifted forty-five degrees,” and he pointed off in a different direction.
“Oh,” said Preston, clearly discouraged and afraid of losing credibility. “I’m an accountant, after all, not a seaman, but accountants are noted for their accuracy. I have an eye for detail and the memory of an elephant. Just ask anyone who knows me. If I say I saw lights, then lights are what I saw.”
“Give me your attention, everyone! Listen to me!” Mrs. Grant called out in a voice everyone could hear. I was surprised to find her capable of producing such volume, for up until then she had been forceful in a quiet way. “Mr. Preston saw lights coming from there.” She nodded in the direction Mr. Hardie had indicated. “We need to keep our eyes open. I suggest you set up a watch, Mr. Hardie. It seems to me we should divide ourselves into shifts of four people, with each of the four responsible for a ninety-degree sector for one hour.” She proceeded to divide people up into nine shifts, exempting Mr. Hardie, of course, but also exempting Hannah and herself, saying they would take on more general duties and fill in where needed. It occurred to me that Hardie did not relish taking orders from a woman, for as he listened, his features were set in a wooden stare.
Several times during the morning, Mr. Hardie was asked for his opinion of the lights, but he was saving his breath. Perhaps he had been offended by Mrs. Grant’s failure to consult him before assigning new tasks. “Won’t be long now” was all he would say, but he left it to our imaginations what it was that wouldn’t be long in coming. At first I assumed he was talking about the arrival of the ship that would carry us to safety, but then I was hit with a burst of sea spray and I thought perhaps he was talking about the rain that threatened but did not fall. Only in the last couple of weeks have I decided that he was talking about something altogether different, about some rivalry that was emerging between himself and Mrs. Grant, some crisis of leadership or some approaching moment when people would see clearly what was what and would unalterably commit themselves to his command; but at the time I had no real basis for thinking anything of the sort.
Mr. Hardie passed out the breakfast biscuits and the tin cup full of water, warning us to take no more than the third of a cup allotted to us. I took only my share, but I was one of the few who did. Hardie watched grimly as people fought over the cup and some of the precious water slopped onto the floor. “Look at ye, acting like children,” he said. From then on, he measured out the exact allotment and passed the cup to us one by one.
When Mrs. Fleming again wondered aloud what might have become of her daughter, Isabelle burst out, “She has a right to know! I wouldn’t want to be protected from the truth,” and despite Mrs. Grant’s stern warning that Isabelle didn’t know what she was talking about, Mr. Preston said, “I saw it, too.” This caused Mrs. Fleming to spring to
“Preston over there,” said Mr. Sinclair. “It was Preston.”
“I did. I’m not making anything up.” Mr. Preston was an earnest, round-faced man who seemed perpetually out of breath.
“Which direction were they?” asked Mrs. Grant in a voice one might use to ask the way to a hotel. “See if you can remember.” Mr. Preston looked immensely relieved and said, “Five points off the wind.” Mr. Hardie had told us how to apply the degrees of a circle or the hands of a clock to locate objects with relation to the wind or to the nose of the boat, so when Mr. Preston said this, we all craned our necks toward the starboard bow as if something might be seen there now. There was an air of unrelenting gravity about Mrs. Grant, a solemnity she conferred on whomever she addressed, and I could see at once that this sort of respect for his viewpoint was all Mr. Preston wanted.
Hardie said, “In the last hour the wind’s shifted forty-five degrees,” and he pointed off in a different direction.
“Oh,” said Preston, clearly discouraged and afraid of losing credibility. “I’m an accountant, after all, not a seaman, but accountants are noted for their accuracy. I have an eye for detail and the memory of an elephant. Just ask anyone who knows me. If I say I saw lights, then lights are what I saw.”
“Give me your attention, everyone! Listen to me!” Mrs. Grant called out in a voice everyone could hear. I was surprised to find her capable of producing such volume, for up until then she had been forceful in a quiet way. “Mr. Preston saw lights coming from there.” She nodded in the direction Mr. Hardie had indicated. “We need to keep our eyes open. I suggest you set up a watch, Mr. Hardie. It seems to me we should divide ourselves into shifts of four people, with each of the four responsible for a ninety-degree sector for one hour.” She proceeded to divide people up into nine shifts, exempting Mr. Hardie, of course, but also exempting Hannah and herself, saying they would take on more general duties and fill in where needed. It occurred to me that Hardie did not relish taking orders from a woman, for as he listened, his features were set in a wooden stare.
Several times during the morning, Mr. Hardie was asked for his opinion of the lights, but he was saving his breath. Perhaps he had been offended by Mrs. Grant’s failure to consult him before assigning new tasks. “Won’t be long now” was all he would say, but he left it to our imaginations what it was that wouldn’t be long in coming. At first I assumed he was talking about the arrival of the ship that would carry us to safety, but then I was hit with a burst of sea spray and I thought perhaps he was talking about the rain that threatened but did not fall. Only in the last couple of weeks have I decided that he was talking about something altogether different, about some rivalry that was emerging between himself and Mrs. Grant, some crisis of leadership or some approaching moment when people would see clearly what was what and would unalterably commit themselves to his command; but at the time I had no real basis for thinking anything of the sort.
Mr. Hardie passed out the breakfast biscuits and the tin cup full of water, warning us to take no more than the third of a cup allotted to us. I took only my share, but I was one of the few who did. Hardie watched grimly as people fought over the cup and some of the precious water slopped onto the floor. “Look at ye, acting like children,” he said. From then on, he measured out the exact allotment and passed the cup to us one by one.
When Mrs. Fleming again wondered aloud what might have become of her daughter, Isabelle burst out, “She has a right to know! I wouldn’t want to be protected from the truth,” and despite Mrs. Grant’s stern warning that Isabelle didn’t know what she was talking about, Mr. Preston said, “I saw it, too.” This caused Mrs. Fleming to spring to
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