Had the word "jailer" really
been pronounced? A strange word for the mate to even _imagine_ he had
heard. A senseless, unlikely word. But this word being the only clear
and definite statement in these grotesque and dismal ravings was
comparatively restful to his mind. Powell's mind rested on it still when
he came up at eight o'clock to take charge of the deck. It was a
moonless night, thick with stars above, very dark on the water. A steady
air from the west kept the sails asleep. Franklin mustered both watches
in low tones as if for a funeral, then approaching Powell:
"The course is east-south-east," said the chief mate distinctly.
"East-south-east, sir."
"Everything's set, Mr. Powell."
"All right, sir."
The other lingered, his sentimental eyes gleamed silvery in the shadowy
face. "A quiet night before us. I don't know that there are any special
orders. A settled, quiet night. I dare say you won't see the captain.
Once upon a time this was the watch he used to come up and start a chat
with either of us then on deck. But now he sits in that infernal stern-
cabin and mopes.
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