But this Mr. Gillett, agent of the police, discreetly declined to do;
Captain Macpherson was a man not to be beckoned to by any one; much less
by him. As he stood squarely in the center of the ship, he looked like a
mariner capable of commanding his boat and all the people aboard;
indeed, some of the characteristics of his vessel seemed to have entered
into his own make-up; the man matched the craft. Broad-nosed, wide of
beam, big, massive, obstinate-looking, the _Lord Nelson_ plowed
aggressively through the seas. With every square sail tugging hard at
her sturdy masts, she smote and over-rode the waves, and, beating them
down, maintained an unvarying, stubborn poise. But although she refused
to vacillate or shuffle to the wooing efforts of the uneasy waters, she
progressed not without noise and pother; foamed and fumed mightily at
the bow and left behind her a wake, receding almost as far as the eyes
might reach. Captain Macpherson looked after the bubbles, cast his
glance aloft at the bulging patches of white, and then condescended to
observe the agent of the police who had silently approached.

"Sir Charles and lady, and Sir Charles' party have expressed, Captain
Macpherson, the desire to obtain permission to visit the prisoners'
deck."

Captain Macpherson looked toward Sir Charles and his lady, the other
passengers lounging around them, a little girl, at the rail, her hair,
blown windward, a splash of gold against the blue sky. "What for?" said
the skipper bruskly.

"To have a look at the convicts, I suppose."

"What good'll that do them?" growled the commander. "Idle curiosity,