“Rather glad I didn’t drown you,” he said, intending to be pleasant.  “But hope you’ll not run amuck in the after cabin.”

“I shall try not too, unless I have cause,” I answered, looking him square in the eyes, and determining to make my position clear at once.  “Senor Estada tells me I am to relieve you.  What is the course?”

“Sou’west, by half sou’.”

“We might be carrying more canvas.”

“There is nothing to hurry about, and the fog is thick.”

“That will probably lift within an hour.  Do you know your position?”

“Only in a general way.  We have held an east by south course since leaving the Capes, until an hour ago, making about ten knots.”

“Very well, I will figure it out as best I can, and mark it on the chart.  There is nothing further to report?”

“No Senor; all has been as it is now.”

He glanced toward Estada, not greatly pleased I presume with my brusqueness, yet finding nothing in either words or manner from which to evoke a quarrel.  The latter had overheard our conversation, but he stood now with back toward us looking out on the sea off the port quarter.  His silent indifference caused LeVere to shrug his shoulders, and disappear down the ladder on his way below.  I turned my face to the man at the wheel—­it was the giant negro—­Cochose.

CHAPTER XV

THE CABIN OF THE NAMUR

Both huge black hands grasped the spokes, and it was evident that it required all his giant strength to control the bucking wheel.  He was an ugly-looking brute, the lower portion of his face apelike, and the wool growing so low as to leave him scarcely an inch of forehead.  His eyes lifted an instant from the binnacle card to glance at me curiously.  They exhibited no flash of recognition.  With sudden relief, and a determination to thoroughly assure myself, I stepped forward and accosted him.

“Little heavy for one man, isn’t it?”

“Oh, Ah don’t mind, boss,” his thick lips grinning.  “Ah’s bin alone worse tricks den dis.”

“You seem to be holding the course, all right—­sou’west, by sou’, Senor LeVere says.”

“Yas, Senor.”

“What is your name?”

“Cochose, Senor; Ah’s a French nigger.”

“Very good, Cochose; my name is Gates, and I am the new first officer.  If you need any help, let me know.”

He nodded, still grinning, to let me realize he understood, and I stepped aside, confident that the fellow retained no recollection of my features.  The relief of this knowledge was considerable, and I gazed over the bark forward with a new feeling of security.  Thus far I had successfully passed the test, and been accepted by all on board.  The only remaining danger of recognition lay in the early recovery of Sanchez, and, as I glanced aside at Estada the conviction became fixed in my mind that such recovery was doubtful.