And there would be no doubt as to the manner of our escape—­the trail left was a plain one.  I could imagine the scene on board when the discovery of our escape was first made—­the search for the missing mate, the discovery of the loss of the boat, the dangling ropes proving how it had been lowered.  Then would follow an excited investigation below, revealing the steward locked into his pantry, and the raging captain tied and gagged in his berth.  I could not forbear laughing to myself at the picture, and yet never was insensible to the danger still confronting us.

There was in my mind, now I had leisure to consider, no doubt as to what those on board that vessel would do.  They would realize we were somewhat astern, and, in the hope of sighting us at daylight, would cruise back and forth in those immediate waters.  Any moment the Sea Gull’s sharp prow might loom up out of the black wall.  As she carried no lights there would be no warning.  It occurred to me that they would be more apt to take a course well in toward shore, anticipating I would endeavor to reach the protection of the coast under cover of darkness.  Someone would discover the loss of the tell-tale compass, which would naturally confirm that suspicion.  Convinced of this I steered more to the eastward, feeling of the face of the compass again to assure myself of the direction.  I found even this small change an advantage in more ways than one, as the boat moved steadier, and I was able to spread a larger amount of canvas.  Lashing the tiller, I crept forward and shook out an additional reef, hauling the ropes taut.  By this time the wind had steadied into a brisk breeze, and the rain had ceased.  Crawling back across the thwarts, I took the jumping tiller again into my hands, and held her nose to it, seeking every advantage.  I had brought back with me a tin of biscuit from the bow locker, more as an excuse for opening conversation than from any feeling of hunger.

“It must be pretty close to midnight,” I said finally.  “Are you hungry?”

The shapeless form in the oilskins straightened slightly, and I knew she had turned her face toward me.

“Hungry!  Oh, no; I had not thought of that.”

“You have been crying?”

“Yes; it is so foolish, but I am so frightened out here in this little boat.  The darkness, and that awful water has got upon my nerves.  You—­you must n’t scold me.”

“Of course not—­I feel the weight myself,” I replied kindly.  “This experience is almost as new to me as to yourself.  You must remember I am no sailor.”

“Yet you understand boats; you know the sea.”

“Only a little about small boats; I picked that up in the Philippines; but I have never had to rely entirely upon myself before.”

“But you are not afraid?”

I laughed softly, hoping to reassure her.

“Not of those things which most affect you, at least.  I can handle the boat all right in this sea and wind, while the darkness possesses no special terror.”