Darker.”
“I must have a look at Darker,” said Osmond. “Meanwhile you take the wheel, and you, Winter, keep a lookout forward. I haven’t heard the ship’s bell sounded this morning.”
“No, sir,” Winter explained. “The clock in the companion has stopped and none of us haven’t got the time.”
“Very well,” said Osmond. “I’ll wind it up and start it when I make eight bells.”
The routine of the duties being thus set going, Osmond went forward and paid a visit to the invalid in the forecastle, with the result that Jim Darker presently appeared on deck with a clean bandage and a somewhat sheepish grin. Then the chief officer turned his attention to the education of his subordinate, observed intently by six pairs of inquisitive eyes.
“I think, Miss Burleigh,” he said, “you had better begin by learning how to take an observation. Then you will be able to do something that the men can’t, as an officer should. Do you know anything about mathematics?”
“As much as is necessary, I expect. I took second class honours in maths. Will that do?”
“Of course it will. By the way, where did you take your degree?”
Oxford—Somerville, you know.”
“Oh,” said Osmond, rather taken aback. “When were you up at Oxford?”
She regarded him with a mischievous smile as she replied: “After your time, I should say. I only came down a year ago.”
It was, of course, but a chance shot. Nevertheless, Osmond hastily reverted to the subject of observations. “It is quite a simple matter to take the altitude of the sun, and you work out your results almost entirely from tables. You will do it easily the first time. I’ll go and get Redford’s sextant, or better still, we might go below and I can show you how to use a sextant and how to work out your latitude.”
“Yes,” she agreed eagerly, “I would sooner have my first lesson below. Our friends here are so very interested in us.”
She bustled away down to the cabin, and Osmond, following, went into his berth, whence he presently emerged with two mahogany cases and a portly volume, inscribed ‘Norie’s Navigation.’
“I’ve found the second mate’s sextant as well as Redford’s, so we can have one each,” he said, laying them on the table with the volume. “And now let us get to work. We mustn’t stay here too long or we shall miss the transit.”
The two mates seated themselves side by side at the table, and Osmond, taking one of the sextants out of its case, explained its construction and demonstrated its use. Then the volume was opened, the tables explained, the mysteries of ‘dip’ refraction and ‘parallax’ expounded, and finally an imaginary observation was worked out on the back of an envelope.
“I had no idea,” said Miss Burleigh, as she triumphantly finished the calculation, “that the science of navigation was so simple.”
“It isn’t,” replied Osmond. “Latitude by the meridian altitude of the sun is the A B C of navigation. Some of it, such as longitude by lunar distance, is fairly tough. But it is time we got on deck. It is past eleven by my watch and the Lord knows what the time actually is. The chronometer has stopped. The skipper bumped against it when he staggered into his berth on the day when the mutiny broke out.”
“Then how shall we get the longitude?” Miss Burleigh asked.
“We shan’t. But it doesn’t matter much. We must keep on a westerly course. There is nothing, in that direction, between us and America.”
The appearance on deck of the two officers, each armed with a sextant, created a profound impression. It is true that, so far as the ‘second mate’ was concerned, the attitude of the crew was merely that of respectful amusement. But the effect, in the case of Osmond, was very different. The evidence that he was able to ‘shoot the sun’ established him in their eyes as a pukka navigator, and added to the awe with which they regarded this uncannily capable ‘factory bug.’ And there was plenty of time for the impression to soak in; for the first glance through the sextant showed that the sun was still rising fairly fast; that there was yet some considerable time to run before noon. In fact, more than half an hour passed before the retardation of the sun’s motion heralded the critical phase. And at this moment the skipper’s head rose slowly above the hood of the companion-hatch.
At first his back was towards the observers, but when he emerged and, turning forward, became aware of them, he stopped short as if petrified. The men ceased their gossip to watch him with ecstatic grins, and Sam Winter edged stealthily towards the ship’s bell.
“What is the meaning of this play-acting and tom foolery?” the skipper demanded, sourly. “Women and landsmen monkeying about with nautical instruments.”
Osmond held up an admonitory hand, keeping his eye glued to the eyepiece of the sextant.
“I’m asking you a question,” the captain persisted. There was another brief silence. Then, suddenly, Osmond sang out “Eight bells!” and looked at his watch. Winter, seizing the lanyard that hung from the clapper of the bell, struck the eight strokes, and the second mate—prompted in a hoarse whisper—called out: “Port watch, there! Bradley will take the first trick at the wheel.”
“Aye, aye, sir—Miss, I means,” responded Bradley, and proceeded purple-faced and chuckling aloud, to relieve the gratified Simmons.
At these proceedings the captain looked on in helpless bewilderment. He watched Osmond wind and set the clock in the companion and saw him disappear below, followed by his accomplice, to work out the reckoning, and shook his head with mute disapproval. But yet to him, as to the rest of the ship’s company, there came a certain sense of relief. Osmond’s brisk, confident voice, the cheerful sound of the ship’s bell, and the orderly setting of the watch, seemed definitely to mark the end of the mutiny and the return to a reign of law and order.
CHAPTER VI
BETTY MAKES A DISCOVERY
For reasons best known to herself, Miss Burleigh made no further attempt that day to satisfy her curiosity as to the quelling of the mutiny. There was, in fact, little opportunity. For shortly after the mid-day meal—sea-pie and corned pork with biscuit—Osmond turned in regardless of the heat, to get a few hours’ sleep before beginning his long night vigil. But on the following day the captain was so far recovered as to be able to take the alternate watches—relieved to some extent in the daytime by the second mate—and this left ample time for Osmond to continue the education of his junior, which now extended from theoretical navigation to practical seamanship.
It was during the afternoon watch, when the two mates were seated on a couple of spare cases in the shadow of the main-sail, practising the working of splices on some oddments of rope, that the ‘examination-in-chief’ began; and Osmond, recognizing the hopelessness of further evasion, was fain to tell the story of his adventure, dryly enough, indeed, but in fairly satisfying detail. And as he narrated, in jerky, colourless sentences, with his eyes riveted on the splice that he was working, his spellbound listener let her rope’s-end and marlinspike lie idle on her lap while she watched his impassive face with something more than mere attention.
“I wonder,” she said when the tale was told, “whether the men realize who the spectre mate really was.”
“I
