“It was a great rain and a mighty wind, O men,” he said, dogmatically, “but no wind can ever hurt this ship.  That I knew while I stood minding the sail which is under my care.”

A dull and inexpressive murmur was heard from the men.  Over the high weather rail, a topping wave flung into their eyes a handful of heavy drops that stung like hail.  There were low groans of indignation.  A man sighed.  Another emitted a spasmodic laugh through his chattering teeth.  No one moved away.  The little kassab wiped his face and went on in his cracked voice, to the accompaniment of the swishing sounds made by the seas that swept regularly astern along the ship’s side.

“Have you heard him shout at the wind—­louder than the wind?  I have heard, being far forward.  And before, too, in the many years I served this white man I have heard him often cry magic words that make all safe.  Ya-wa!  This is truth.  Ask Wasub who is a Haji, even as I am.”

“I have seen white men’s ships with their masts broken—­also wrecked like our own praus,” remarked sadly a lean, lank fellow who shivered beside the kassab, hanging his head and trying to grasp his shoulder blades.

“True,” admitted the kassab.  “They are all the children of Satan but to some more favour is shown.  To obey such men on the sea or in a fight is good.  I saw him who is master here fight with wild men who eat their enemies—­far away to the eastward—­and I dealt blows by his side without fear; for the charms he, no doubt, possesses protect his servants also.  I am a believer and the Stoned One can not touch my forehead.  Yet the reward of victory comes from the accursed.  For six years have I sailed with that white man; first as one who minds the rudder, for I am a man of the sea, born in a prau, and am skilled in such work.  And now, because of my great knowledge of his desires, I have the care of all things in this ship.”

Several voices muttered, “True.  True.”  They remained apathetic and patient, in the rush of wind, under the repeated short flights of sprays.  The slight roll of the ship balanced them stiffly all together where they stood propped against the big boat.  The breeze humming between the inclined masts enveloped their dark and silent figures in the unceasing resonance of its breath.

The brig’s head had been laid so as to pass a little to windward of the small islands of the Carimata group.  They had been till then hidden in the night, but now both men on the lookout reported land ahead in one long cry.  Lingard, standing to leeward abreast of the wheel, watched the islet first seen.  When it was nearly abeam of the brig he gave his orders, and Wasub hurried off to the main deck.  The helm was put down, the yards on the main came slowly square and the wet canvas of the main-topsail clung suddenly to the mast after a single heavy flap.  The dazzling streak of the ship’s wake vanished.  The vessel lost her way and began to dip her bows into the quick succession of the running head seas.  And at every slow plunge of the craft, the song of the wind would swell louder amongst the waving spars, with a wild and mournful note.