The point, however, is that Captain S-, who used to say frequently, “She never made a decent passage after I left her,” seemed to think that the secret of her speed lay in her famous commander.  No doubt the secret of many a ship’s excellence does lie with the man on board, but it was hopeless for Captain S- to try to make his new iron clipper equal the feats which made the old Tweed a name of praise upon the lips of English-speaking seamen.  There was something pathetic in it, as in the endeavour of an artist in his old age to equal the masterpieces of his youth—­for the Tweed’s famous passages were Captain S-’s masterpieces.  It was pathetic, and perhaps just the least bit dangerous.  At any rate, I am glad that, what between Captain S-’s yearning for old triumphs and Mr. P-’s deafness, I have seen some memorable carrying on to make a passage.  And I have carried on myself upon the tall spars of that Clyde shipbuilder’s masterpiece as I have never carried on in a ship before or since.

The second mate falling ill during the passage, I was promoted to officer of the watch, alone in charge of the deck.  Thus the immense leverage of the ship’s tall masts became a matter very near my own heart.  I suppose it was something of a compliment for a young fellow to be trusted, apparently without any supervision, by such a commander as Captain S-; though, as far as I can remember, neither the tone, nor the manner, nor yet the drift of Captain S-’s remarks addressed to myself did ever, by the most strained interpretation, imply a favourable opinion of my abilities.  And he was, I must say, a most uncomfortable commander to get your orders from at night.  If I had the watch from eight till midnight, he would leave the deck about nine with the words, “Don’t take any sail off her.”  Then, on the point of disappearing down the companion-way, he would add curtly:  “Don’t carry anything away.”  I am glad to say that I never did; one night, however, I was caught, not quite prepared, by a sudden shift of wind.

There was, of course, a good deal of noise—­running about, the, shouts of the sailors, the thrashing of the sails—­enough, in fact, to wake the dead.  But S- never came on deck.  When I was relieved by the chief mate an hour afterwards, he sent for me.  I went into his stateroom; he was lying on his couch wrapped up in a rug, with a pillow under his head.

“What was the matter with you up there just now?” he asked.

“Wind flew round on the lee quarter, sir,” I said.

“Couldn’t you see the shift coming?”

“Yes, sir, I thought it wasn’t very far off.”

“Why didn’t you have your courses hauled up at once, then?” he asked in a tone that ought to have made my blood run cold.

But this was my chance, and I did not let it slip.

“Well, sir,” I said in an apologetic tone, “she was going eleven knots very nicely, and I thought she would do for another half-hour or so.”