gangway. I was not yet convinced. I was, indeed, less sure than ever
that he could be the master of this huge community of engines and men.
He did not accord with it.

We were no sooner on deck than a man in uniform, grey-haired, with a
seamed and resolute face, which any one would have recognized at once
as a sailor's, approached us. He was introduced as the chief officer.
He had a tale of woe: trouble with the dockmaster, with the stevedores,
with the cargo, with many things. He did not appear to know what to do
with them. He was asking this boy of ours.

The skipper began to speak. At that moment I was gazing at the funnel,
trying to decipher a monogram upon it; but I heard a new voice, rapid
and incisive, sure of its subject, resolving doubts, and making the
crooked straight. It was the man with the brown paper parcel. That
was still under his arm--in fact, the parcel contained pink pyjamas,
and there was hardly enough paper. The respect of the mate was not
lessened by this.

The skipper went to gaze down a hatchway. He walked to the other side
of the ship, and inspected something there. Conned her length, called
up in a friendly but authoritative way to an engineer standing by an
amid-ship rail above. He came back to the mate, and with an easy
precision directed his will on others, through his deputy, up to the
time of sailing. He beckoned to me, who also, apparently, was under
his august orders, and turned, as though perfectly aware that in this
place I should follow him meekly, in full obedience.

Our steamer moved out at midnight, in a drive of wind and rain. There
were bewildering and unrelated lights about us. Peremptory challenges