The fact that Henley--for whatever his name
might be, this was the one to which he laid claim--had not left his
stateroom, or made any effort to observe my movements, was a decided
encouragement. Beyond all question he believed me safely in his grasp,
and his promise of liberty on board was being substantiated. I was not
to be watched, or spied upon. For the first time I began to feel a
true sense of freedom.
The deck forward of the main mast was too dark for observation,
although I was certain of a group of men gathered in the waist to
leeward. Occasionally the sound of a voice was blown back, and I could
perceive the dull, red glow of a pipe or two. The main body of the
watch these would be, and even as I stared at the lumping shadow, a
command was roared from the bridge, and two shapeless figures detached
themselves from the mass, and ran forward. The bridge itself was
partially outlined against the lighter sky, giving me a vague glimpse
of two figures, one standing motionless, as though gripping the rail,
and peering straight ahead into the smother, the other striding back
and forth. The last appeared a huge shadow, his coat flapping in the
wind, and I knew he must be the German first mate, Herman.
Satisfied on these points, and with a glance below at the unoccupied
cabin, I stepped back and paced off the distance, until convinced that
I had safely located where the porthole of number "5" should be.
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