I instantly seized it again and looked carefully at the features, and then it was plain enough.  There he was, in a neat fitting bodice, the curly blond hair stylishly dressed, and the plump cheeks showing just the faintest trace of the dimples of our former third officer.  I looked at the back of the photograph.  It had the name of a Melbourne artist upon it, and beneath, in a female hand, the written words, “Yours lovingly, Belle.”

Trunnell heard Jennie’s exclamation and came up.  He took the picture from me and gazed long at the face.  Then he gave a sigh which sounded like a blackfish drawing in air, handed it back to me, and went up the companionway, scratching his head in the manner he did when much disturbed.  He said not a word, nor did he mention Mr. Bell’s name, and that night at supper he never raised his eyes from his plate.  Afterward in the mid-watch he came on the poop and walked fore and aft for three long hours without so much as speaking to me or asking the man at the wheel the vessel’s course.  He finally went below, carrying the odor of grog along with him.  He came on deck many nights after this and walked fore and aft in silence, as though brooding over some unpleasant subject, and we were clear of the trade and knocking about in the uncertain latitudes before he appeared to be anything like himself again.

I avoided any subject relating to the earlier part of the voyage and tried to cheer him.  I thought he had suffered keenly, and was glad when he stopped drinking and looked me in the eyes without letting his gaze fall in confusion.  Sometimes I caught myself wondering at the reticence of the men who had rowed him to the burnt wreck that night, but I found that no one had boarded her except Trunnell and he had sent the boat astern.

Tom, the quartermaster, made mate under me, was a good sailor.  He did his work thoroughly, and everything went along without friction throughout the rest of the voyage to the Breakwater.  We picked up the northeast trade in a few days, and hauled our starboard tacks aboard, bracing the yards sharp up until it gradually swung more and more to the eastward, letting us off on a taut bowline for the latitude of the States.

The Pirate showed herself to be the fast ship she had always been, for we made the run up the trade in less than three weeks.  Trunnell took such pride in her that all hands were tired out before we ran over the thirtieth parallel, with the scrubbing, painting, holy-stoning, etc., that he considered necessary to have her undergo before arriving in port.  As mate of the ship, I had much opportunity to command the deck alone; that is, without the supervision of any one.  Of course, I can’t say I spent much time alone on deck, even when in charge; but I would never let social matters interfere with work sufficiently to merit a rebuke from the little skipper.  He soon manifested a disposition to be alone during his watch on deck, and at first I believed this to