Not a
word, not a whisper, not a questioning look even! They did not ask! It
flattered him. He was also rather glad of it, because if the unconscious
part of him was perfectly certain of its action, he, himself, did not
know what to do with those bruised and battered beings a playful fate
had delivered suddenly into his hands.
He had received the fugitives personally, had helped some over the rail;
in the darkness, slashed about by lightning, he had guessed that not one
of them was unwounded, and in the midst of tottering shapes he wondered
how on earth they had managed to reach the long-boat that had brought
them off. He caught unceremoniously in his arms the smallest of these
shapes and carried it into the cabin, then without looking at his light
burden ran up again on deck to get the brig under way. While shouting
out orders he was dimly aware of someone hovering near his elbow. It was
Hassim.
"I am not ready for war," he explained, rapidly, over his shoulder,
"and to-morrow there may be no wind." Afterward for a time he forgot
everybody and everything while he conned the brig through the few
outlying dangers. But in half an hour, and running off with the wind on
the quarter, he was quite clear of the coast and breathed freely. It
was only then that he approached two others on that poop where he was
accustomed in moments of difficulty to commune alone with his craft.
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