The second-mate stood waiting the further descent of the captain, with a soft of leering look of contempt on his hard, well-dyed features, which seemed to anticipate that it would soon be known that Mark’s white water had lost its colour, and become blue water once more.  But Captain Crutchely did not go as far as this, when he got down.  He admitted that he had seen nothing that he could very decidedly say was breakers, but that, once or twice, when it lighted up a little, there had been a gleaming along the western horizon which a good deal puzzled him.  It might be white water, or it might be only the last rays of the setting sun tipping the combs of the regular seas.  Bob Betts, too, was as much at fault as his captain, and a sarcastic remark or two of Hillson, the second-mate, were fast bringing Mark’s breakers into discredit.

“Jest look at the chart, Captain Crutchely,” put in Hillson—­“a regular Tower Hill chart as ever was made, and you’ll see there can be no white water hereabouts.  If a man is to shorten sail and haul his wind, at every dead whale he falls in with, in these seas, his owners will have the balance on the wrong side of the book at the end of the v’y’ge!”

This told hard against Mark, and considerably in Hillson’s favour.

“And could you see nothing of breakers ahead, Bob?” demanded Mark, with an emphasis on the ‘you’ which pretty plainly implied that the young man was not so much surprised that the captain had not seen them.

“Not a bit of it, Mr. Woolston,” answered Bob, hitching up his trowsers, “and I’d a pretty good look ahead, too.”

This made still more against Mark, and Captain Crutchely sent for the chart.  Over this map he and the second-mate pondered with a sort of muzzy sagacity, when they came to the conclusion that a clear sea must prevail around them, in all directions, for a distance exceeding a thousand miles.  A great deal is determined in any case of a dilemma, when it is decided that this or that fact must be so.  Captain Crutchely would not have arrived at this positive conclusion so easily, had not his reasoning powers been so much stimulated by his repeated draughts of rum and water, that afternoon; all taken, as he said and believed, not so much out of love for the beverage itself, as out of love for Mrs. John Crutchely.  Nevertheless, our captain was accustomed to take care of a ship, and he was not yet in a condition to forget all his duties, in circumstances so critical.  As Mark solemnly and steadily repeated his own belief that there were breakers ahead, he so far yielded to the opinions of his youthful chief-mate as to order the deep-sea up, and to prepare to sound.

This operation of casting the deep-sea lead is not done in a moment, but, on board a merchant vessel, usually occupies from a quarter of an hour to twenty minutes.  The ship must first be hove-to, and her way ought to be as near lost as possible before the cast is made.  Then the getting along of the line, the stationing of the men, and the sounding and hauling in again, occupy a good many minutes.  By the time it was all over, on this occasion, it was getting to be night.  The misty, drizzling weather threatened to make the darkness intense, and Mark felt more and more impressed with the danger in which the ship was placed.