“What think you, Bill, of this present vocation, eh?” asked another companion.

“I shipped for six months, that’s all I know, and no questions asked.  I understand very well that Captain Ratlin wouldn’t ship me where he wouldn’t go himself.”

“Well, do you see, Bill, most of us are new on board here, though we have knocked about long enough to get the number of our mess and to work ship together, and don’t perhaps feel so well satisfied as you do.”

“Why, look ye, messmates, arnt you satisfied so long as the articles you signed are kept by captain and crew?” asked Bill Marline, somewhat tartly.

“Why, yes, as to that matter; but where are we bound, Bill?” asked the other.

“Any boy in the ship can make out the ‘Sea Witch’s’ course,” said the old tar, evasively.  “We’re in these here Northern Trades, close-hauled, and heading, according to my reckoning, due east, and any man who has stood his trick at the wheel of a ship, knows that such a course steered from the West Indies will, if well followed, run down the Cape Verds; that’s all I know.”

“Port Praya and a port; that was in the articles sure enough,” answered he who had questioned Bill Marline; “but the ‘Sea Witch’ will scarce anchor there before she is off again, according to my reckoning.”

That the old tar knew more than he chose to divulge, however, was apparent to his comrades, but they knew him to be fixed when he chose, and so did not endeavor by importunity to gather anything further from him; so the conversation gradually changed into some other channel.

In the meantime, while the crew gathered about Bill Marline were thus speculating, the vessel bowled along gracefully, with a speed that was in itself exhilarating to her young commander, who still gazed idly at the passing current.  Once or twice a slight frown clouded his features, and his lips moved as though he was striving within himself either against real or imaginary evil, and then the same calm, placid manliness of countenance radiated his handsome features, and his lips were composed.

Now he turned to issue some necessary order, which was uttered in that calm, manly distinctness that challenges obedience, and then he resumed his idle gaze over the vessel’s side, once more losing himself in his day dream.

CHAPTER III.

The gale.

“The Wind seems to be hauling,” said the mate, walking aft, and addressing his superior.

“Keep her a good full,” said the captain, to the man at the helm.

“Ay, ay, sir,” said the old tar, as he tried to make the sails draw by altering the vessel’s course a point or two more free.

“Here it is, sure enough,” said the captain, “from the southwest.  Up with the men forward once more, Mr. Faulkner!—­we must humor our beauty.”

“All hands oil deck!” shouted the mate at the hatch—­an order which as before was perfectly obeyed.