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And yet, stirrings of memory coming now to the
assistance of reflection, compelled him uneasily to insist that
here something was not as it should be. The low position of the
sun, flooding the cabin with golden light from those square ports
astern, suggested to him at first that it was early morning, on
the assumption that the vessel was headed westward. Then the
alternative occurred to him. They might be sailing eastward, in
which case the time of day would be late afternoon. That they
were sailing he could feel from the gentle forward heave of the
vessel under him. But how did they come to be sailing, and he,
the master, not to know whether their course lay east or west, not
to be able to recollect whither they were bound?
His mind went back over the adventure of yesterday, if of yesterday
it was. He was clear on the matter of the easily successful raid
upon the Island of Barbados; every detail stood vividly in his
memory up to the moment at which, returning aboard, he had stepped
on to his own deck again. There memory abruptly and inexplicably
ceased.


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