he turned away to look ahead and to leeward with a steady gaze. It was
then half an hour past midnight and Shaw, relieved by Wasub, had gone
below. Before he went, he said to Lingard, "I will be off, sir, if
you're not going to make more sail yet." "Not yet for a while," had
answered Lingard in a preoccupied manner; and Shaw departed aggrieved at
such a neglect of making the best of a good breeze.

On the main deck dark-skinned men, whose clothing clung to their
shivering limbs as if they had been overboard, had finished recoiling
the braces, and clearing the gear. The kassab, after having hung the
fore-topsail halyards in the becket, strutted into the waist toward a
row of men who stood idly with their shoulders against the side of the
long boat amidships. He passed along looking up close at the stolid
faces. Room was made for him, and he took his place at the end.

"It was a great rain and a mighty wind, O men," he said, dogmatically,
"but no wind can ever hurt this ship. That I knew while I stood minding
the sail which is under my care."

A dull and inexpressive murmur was heard from the men. Over the high
weather rail, a topping wave flung into their eyes a handful of heavy
drops that stung like hail. There were low groans of indignation. A man
sighed. Another emitted a spasmodic laugh through his chattering teeth.
No one moved away. The little kassab wiped his face and went on in his
cracked voice, to the accompaniment of the swishing sounds made by the
seas that swept regularly astern along the ship's side.

"Have you heard him shout at the wind--louder than the wind? I have
heard, being far forward. And before, too, in the many years I served
this white man I have heard him often cry magic words that make all