And like a member of a dynasty, feeling a semimystical bond with the dead, I was profoundly shocked by my immediate predecessor.

That man had been in all essentials but his age just such another man as myself.  Yet the end of his life was a complete act of treason, the betrayal of a tradition which seemed to me as imperative as any guide on earth could be.  It appeared that even at sea a man could become the victim of evil spirits.  I felt on my face the breath of unknown powers that shape our destinies.

Not to let the silence last too long I asked Mr. Burns if he had written to his captain’s wife.  He shook his head.  He had written to nobody.

In a moment he became sombre.  He never thought of writing.  It took him all his time to watch incessantly the loading of the ship by a rascally Chinese stevedore.  In this Mr. Burns gave me the first glimpse of the real chief mate’s soul which dwelt uneasily in his body.

He mused, then hastened on with gloomy force.

“Yes!  The captain died as near noon as possible.  I looked through his papers in the afternoon.  I read the service over him at sunset and then I stuck the ship’s head north and brought her in here.  I—­brought—­her—­in.”

He struck the table with his fist.

“She would hardly have come in by herself,” I observed.  “But why didn’t you make for Singapore instead?”

His eyes wavered.  “The nearest port,” he muttered sullenly.

I had framed the question in perfect innocence, but his answer (the difference in distance was insignificant) and his manner offered me a clue to the simple truth.  He took the ship to a port where he expected to be confirmed in his temporary command from lack of a qualified master to put over his head.  Whereas Singapore, he surmised justly, would be full of qualified men.  But his naive reasoning forgot to take into account the telegraph cable reposing on the bottom of the very Gulf up which he had turned that ship which he imagined himself to have saved from destruction.  Hence the bitter flavour of our interview.  I tasted it more and more distinctly—­and it was less and less to my taste.

“Look here, Mr. Burns,” I began very firmly.  “You may as well understand that I did not run after this command.  It was pushed in my way.  I’ve accepted it.  I am here to take the ship home first of all, and you may be sure that I shall see to it that every one of you on board here does his duty to that end.  This is all I have to say—­for the present.”

He was on his feet by this time, but instead of taking his dismissal he remained with trembling, indignant lips, and looking at me hard as though, really, after this, there was nothing for me to do in common decency but to vanish from his outraged sight.  Like all very simple emotional states this was moving.  I felt sorry for him—­almost sympathetic, till (seeing that I did not vanish) he spoke in a tone of forced restraint.