I gave him the course; but the crabby
old devil took no notice of me, whatever. When I got down on to the
maindeck, I went up to the Second, and gave it to him. He answered me
civilly enough, and then asked me what I had been doing to put the Old
Man's back up. "I told him there's a ship on the starboard quarter, signalling us," I
said. "There's no ship out there, Jessop," the Second Mate replied, looking at
me with a queer, inscrutable expression. "There is, Sir," I began. "I--"

"That will do, Jessop!" he said. "Go forrard and have a smoke. I shall
want you then to give a hand with these foot-ropes. You'd better bring a
serving-mallet aft with you, when you come." I hesitated a moment, partly in anger; but more, I think, in doubt. "i, i, Sir," I muttered at length, and went forrard. VIII


_After the Coming of the Mist_


After the coming of the mist, things seemed to develop pretty quickly. In the following two or three days a good deal happened. On the night of the day on which the Skipper had sent me away from the
wheel, it was our watch on deck from eight o' clock to twelve, and my
look-out from ten to twelve. As I paced slowly to and fro across the fo'cas'le head, I was thinking
about the affair of the morning. At first, my thoughts were about the
Old Man. I cursed him thoroughly to myself, for being a pig-headed old
fool, until it occurred to me that if I had been in his place, and come
on deck to find the ship almost aback, and the fellow at the wheel
staring out across the sea, instead of attending to his business, I
should most certainly have kicked up a thundering row. And then, I had
been an ass to tell him about the ship. I should never have done such a
thing, if I had not been a bit adrift. Most likely the old chap thought
I was cracked. I ceased to bother my head about him, and fell to wondering why the
Second Mate had looked at me so queerly in the morning. Did he guess
more of the truth than I supposed? And if that were the case, why had he
refused to listen to me? After that, I went to puzzling about the mist. I had thought a great
deal about it, during the day. One idea appealed to me, very strongly. It was that the actual, visible mist was a materialised expression of an
extraordinarily subtle atmosphere, in which we were moving. Abruptly, as I walked backwards and forwards, taking occasional glances
over the sea (which was almost calm), my eye caught the glow of a light
out in the darkness. I stood still, and stared. I wondered whether it
was the light of a vessel. In that case we were no longer enveloped in
that extraordinary atmosphere. I bent forward, and gave the thing my
more immediate attention. I saw then that it was undoubtedly the green
light of a vessel on our port bow. It was plain that she was bent on
crossing our bows. What was more, she was dangerously near--the size and
brightness of her light showed that. She would be close-hauled, while we
were going free, so that, of course, it was our place to get out of her
way. Instantly, I turned and, putting my hands up to my mouth, hailed
the Second Mate:

"Light on the port bow, Sir." The next moment his hail came back:

"Whereabouts?" "He must be blind," I said to myself. "About two points on the bow, Sir," I sung out. Then I turned to see whether she had shifted her position at all. Yet,
when I came to look, there was no light visible. I ran forrard to the
bows, and leant over the rail, and stared; but there was nothing--
absolutely nothing except the darkness all about us. For perhaps a few
seconds I stood thus, and a suspicion swept across me, that the whole
business was practically a repetition of the affair of the morning. Evidently, the impalpable something that invested the ship, had thinned
for an instant, thus allowing me to see the light ahead. Now, it had
closed again. Yet, whether I could see, or not, I did not doubt the fact
that, there was a vessel ahead, and very close ahead, too. We might run
on top of her any minute. My only hope was that, seeing we were not
getting out of her way, she had put her helm up, so as to let us pass,
with the intention of then crossing under our stern. I waited, pretty
anxiously, watching and listening. Then, all at once, I heard steps
coming along the deck, forrard, and the 'prentice, whose time-keeping it
was, came up on to the fo'cas'le head. "The Second Mate says he can't see any light Jessop," he said, coming
over to where I stood. "Whereabouts is it?" "I don't know," I answered. "I've lost sight of it myself. It was a
green light, about a couple of points on the port bow. It seemed fairly
close." "Perhaps their lamp's gone out," he suggested, after peering out pretty
hard into the night for a minute or so. "Perhaps," I said. I did not tell him that the light had been so close that, even in the
darkness, we should _now_ have been able to see the ship herself. "You're quite sure it was a light, and not a star?" he asked,
doubtfully, after another long stare. "Oh! no," I said. "It may have been the moon, now I come to think about
it." "Don't rot," he replied. "It's easy enough to make a mistake. What shall
I say to the Second Mate?" "Tell him it's disappeared, of course!" "Where to?" he asked. "How the devil should I know?" I told him. "Don't ask silly questions!" "All right, keep your rag in," he said, and went aft to report to the
Second Mate. Five minutes later, it might have been, I saw the light again. It was
broad on the bow, and told me plainly enough that she had up with her
helm to escape being run down. I did not wait a moment; but sung out to
the Second Mate that there was a green light about four points on the
port bow. By Jove! it must have been a close shave. The light did not
_seem_ to be more than about a hundred yards away. It was fortunate that
we had not much way through the water. "Now," I thought to myself, "the Second will see the thing. And perhaps
Mr. Blooming 'prentice will be able to give the star its proper name." Even as the thought came into my head, the light faded and vanished; and
I caught the Second Mate's voice. "Whereaway?" he was singing out. "It's gone again, Sir," I answered. A minute later, I heard him coming along the deck. He reached the foot of the starboard ladder. "Where are you, Jessop?" he inquired. "Here, Sir," I said, and went to the top of the weather ladder. He came up slowly on to the fo'cas'le head. "What's this you've been singing out about a light?" he asked. "Just
point out exactly where it was you last saw it." This I did, and he went over to the port rail, and stared away into the
night; but without seeing anything. "It's gone, Sir," I ventured to remind him. "Though I've seen it twice
now--once, about a couple of points on the bow, and this last time,
broad away on the bow; but it disappeared both times, almost at once." "I don't understand it at all, Jessop," he said, in a puzzled voice. "Are you sure it was a ship's light?" "Yes, Sir. A green light. It was quite close."