There's naught upon the stern, there's naught upon the lee,
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we.
But there's a lofty ship to windward,
And she's sailing fast and free,
Sailing down along the coast of the high Barbaree.
--Ancient Shanty
The skipper of the Olenia found himself dabbling in guesses and
wonderment more than is good for a man who is expected to obey without
asking the reason why.
That cruise seemed to be a series of spasmodic alternations between
leisurely loafing and hustling haste.
There were days when he was ordered to amble along at half speed
offshore. Then for hours together Julius Marston and his two especial
and close companions, men of affairs, plainly, men of his kind, bunched
themselves close together in their hammock chairs under the poop awning
and talked interminably. Alma Marston and her young friends, chaperoned
by an amiable aunt--so Captain Mayo understood her status in the
party--remained considerately away from the earnest group of three.
Arthur Beveridge attached himself to the young folks.
From the bridge the captain caught glimpses of all this shipboard
routine. The yacht's saunterings offshore seemed a part of the summer
vacation.
But the occasional hurryings into harbors, the conferences below with
men who came and went with more or less attempt at secrecy, did not fit
with the vacation side of the cruise.
These conferences were often followed by orders to the captain to thread
inner reaches of the coast and to visit unfrequented harbors.
Captain Mayo had been prepared for these trips, although he had not been
informed of the reason. It was his first season on the yacht Olenia.
The shipping broker who had hired him had been searching in his
inquiries as to Mayo's knowledge of the byways of the coast. The young
man who had captained fishermen and coasters ever since he was seventeen
years old had found it easy to convince the shipping broker, and the
shipping broker had sent him on board the yacht without the formality of
an interview with the owner.
Mayo was informed curtly that there was no need of an interview. He was
told that Julius Marston never bothered with details.
When Julius Marston had come on board with his party he merely nodded
grim acknowledgment of the salute of his yacht's master, who stood at
the gangway, cap in hand.
The owner had never shown any interest in the management of the yacht;
he had remained abaft the main gangway; he had never called the captain
into conference regarding any movements of the Olenia.
Captain Mayo, pacing the bridge in the forenoon watch, trying to grasp
the full measure of his fortune after troubled dreams of his master's
daughter, recollected that he had never heard the sound of Julius
Marston's voice. So far as personal contact was concerned, the yacht's
skipper was evidently as much a matter of indifference to the owner as
the yacht's funnel.