This was the kassab or store-keeper, the holder of a position of dignity and ease.  The kassab was the only one of the crew taking their evening meal who noticed the presence on deck of their commander.  He muttered something to the tindal who directly cocked his old hat on one side, which senseless action invested him with an altogether foolish appearance.  The others heard, but went on somnolently feeding with spidery movements of their lean arms.

The sun was no more than a degree or so above the horizon, and from the heated surface of the waters a slight low mist began to rise; a mist thin, invisible to the human eye; yet strong enough to change the sun into a mere glowing red disc, a disc vertical and hot, rolling down to the edge of the horizontal and cold-looking disc of the shining sea.  Then the edges touched and the circular expanse of water took on suddenly a tint, sombre, like a frown; deep, like the brooding meditation of evil.

The falling sun seemed to be arrested for a moment in his descent by the sleeping waters, while from it, to the motionless brig, shot out on the polished and dark surface of the sea a track of light, straight and shining, resplendent and direct; a path of gold and crimson and purple, a path that seemed to lead dazzling and terrible from the earth straight into heaven through the portals of a glorious death.  It faded slowly.  The sea vanquished the light.  At last only a vestige of the sun remained, far off, like a red spark floating on the water.  It lingered, and all at once—­without warning—­went out as if extinguished by a treacherous hand.

“Gone,” cried Lingard, who had watched intently yet missed the last moment.  “Gone!  Look at the cabin clock, Shaw!”

“Nearly right, I think, sir.  Three minutes past six.”

The helmsman struck four bells sharply.  Another barefooted seacannie glided on the far side of the poop to relieve the wheel, and the serang of the brig came up the ladder to take charge of the deck from Shaw.  He came up to the compass, and stood waiting silently.

“The course is south by east when you get the wind, serang,” said Shaw, distinctly.

“Sou’ by eas’,” repeated the elderly Malay with grave earnestness.

“Let me know when she begins to steer,” added Lingard.

“Ya, Tuan,” answered the man, glancing rapidly at the sky.  “Wind coming,” he muttered.

“I think so, too,” whispered Lingard as if to himself.

The shadows were gathering rapidly round the brig.  A mulatto put his head out of the companion and called out: 

“Ready, sir.”

“Let’s get a mouthful of something to eat, Shaw,” said Lingard.  “I say, just take a look around before coming below.  It will be dark when we come up again.”

“Certainly, sir,” said Shaw, taking up a long glass and putting it to his eyes.  “Blessed thing,” he went on in snatches while he worked the tubes in and out, “I can’t—­never somehow—­Ah!  I’ve got it right at last!”