"No, thanks."
"Nothing to eat, or drink?"
"Nothing. I shall be ready for a square meal when I am able to come
below--not before."
Christobal smiled. Though he was a brave man, he thought such persistent
optimism was out of place. Nevertheless, he could emulate Courtenay's
coolness.
"Let me know when you are ready. I am an excellent cook," he said.
Then the captain of the Kansas resumed his smoking and humming, with
occasional glances at the clock, and the compass, and the barometer. At
two o'clock he felt the ship slipping from under the wheel. The compass
showed that she was heading a couple of points eastward. He helped her,
and telephoned instantly to Walker: "Go forward and try if you can make out anything. Report to me here."
"Ay, ay, sir," came the reply, and anon Walker appeared.
"It's main thick ahead, sir, but I think we-aw passin' an island to
port," said he.
"I thought so. You had better remain here, Walker. We have not long to
wait now for the dawn, and four eyes are better than two."
Walker imagined that the skipper was ready for a chat.
"Things are in a dweadful mess below, sir. I can't make head or tail of
the smash."
"Well, that must wait. Don't talk. Keep a sharp lookout."
The engineer could not guess that the captain's pulse was beating a
trifle more rapidly with a certain elation. They were undoubtedly
passing White Horse Island. It revealed its presence by deflecting the
tremendous sea-river which ferried the Kansas onward at such a rate.
In fifteen or twenty minutes Courtenay expected to find indications of a
more northerly set of the tide, and he watched the compass intently for
the first sign of this return to the former course. If the ship crossed
the current one way or the other she would certainly be driven ashore on
some outlying spur of the island or detached sunken reef. Hence, he must
actually guess his way, with something of the acquired sense of the
blind, because the slight chance of ultimate escape for the ship and her
occupants rested wholly on the assumption that some ocean by-way was
leading her to a deep-water inlet, where it might be possible to drop the
anchor.
In eighteen minutes, or thereabouts, the needle moved slightly.
Courtenay once more assisted the ship with the helm. She steadied
herself, and the compass pointed due northeast again.
Walker, though an engineer, knew enough of navigation to recognize the
apparent impossibility of the captain's being able to steer with any real
knowledge of his surroundings. The wheel-twisting, therefore, savored of
magic; but his orders were to look ahead, and he obeyed.