“See here, Mr. Dodd,” he began, looking at me rather queerly, “here is a business point arisen.  This sea’s been running up for the last two days, and now it’s too high for comfort.  The glass is falling, the wind is breezing up, and I won’t say but what there’s dirt in it.  If I lay her to, we may have to ride out a gale of wind and drift God knows where—­on these French Frigate Shoals, for instance.  If I keep her as she goes, we’ll make that island to-morrow afternoon, and have the lee of it to lie under, if we can’t make out to run in.  The point you have to figure on, is whether you’ll take the big chances of that Captain Trent making the place before you, or take the risk of something happening.  I’m to run this ship to your satisfaction,” he added, with an ugly sneer.  “Well, here’s a point for the supercargo.”

“Captain,” I returned, with my heart in my mouth, “risk is better than certain failure.”

“Life is all risk, Mr. Dodd,” he remarked.  “But there’s one thing:  it’s now or never; in half an hour, Archdeacon Gabriel couldn’t lay her to, if he came down stairs on purpose.”

“All right,” said I.  “Let’s run.”

“Run goes,” said he; and with that he fell to breakfast, and passed half an hour in stowing away pie and devoutly wishing himself back in San Francisco.

When we came on deck again, he took the wheel from Johnson—­it appears they could trust none among the hands—­and I stood close beside him, feeling safe in this proximity, and tasting a fearful joy from our surroundings and the consciousness of my decision.  The breeze had already risen, and as it tore over our heads, it uttered at times a long hooting note that sent my heart into my boots.  The sea pursued us without remission, leaping to the assault of the low rail.  The quarter-deck was all awash, and we must close the companion doors.

“And all this, if you please, for Mr. Pinkerton’s dollars!” the captain suddenly exclaimed.  “There’s many a fine fellow gone under, Mr. Dodd, because of drivers like your friend.  What do they care for a ship or two?  Insured, I guess.  What do they care for sailors’ lives alongside of a few thousand dollars?  What they want is speed between ports, and a damned fool of a captain that’ll drive a ship under as I’m doing this one.  You can put in the morning, asking why I do it.”

I sheered off to another part of the vessel as fast as civility permitted.  This was not at all the talk that I desired, nor was the train of reflection which it started anyway welcome.  Here I was, running some hazard of my life, and perilling the lives of seven others; exactly for what end, I was now at liberty to ask myself.  For a very large amount of a very deadly poison, was the obvious answer; and I thought if all tales were true, and I were soon to be subjected to cross-examination at the bar of Eternal Justice, it was one which would not increase my popularity with the court.  “Well, never mind, Jim,” thought I.  “I’m doing it for you.”