I had a strong notion to ask him outright if he was fitted to perform the
function, but his superior air and the feeling that I might make a
mistake after all and incur the displeasure of the beak-nosed skipper
deterred me. But I was almost certain that our third mate was a woman.

We remained standing together in the night for a few moments while
neither spoke. My advances had not received the favorable acknowledgment
I had expected, and there was a distinctly disagreeable feeling creeping
upon me while in this neutral presence. I was young and hot-headed, so I
spoke accordingly before leaving the field, or rather deck, in retreat.

"I wish you had the distinction of belonging to the port watch."

"Why?"

"I think I might strengthen your powers of discernment regarding the
relative positions of second and third mates."

"We'll see who has the better insight in regard to the matter without my
being bored to that extent," said the third officer in his softest tones,
and again I fancied I heard the voice of a man swearing fiercely in a low
voice as if to himself. Then I turned and went aft.

"It's something queer," said Trunnell, shaking his great shaggy head and
glancing toward the break of the poop. A step sounded on the companion
ladder, and the skipper came on deck.

"Pretty dark, hey?" he said, and his quick eyes took in both Trunnell and
myself comprehensively.