He did not offer to help me or himself till I had coughed markedly several times. I talked to him professionally in a cheery tone, and ended with the confident assertion:
"We shall get her off before midnight, sir."
He smiled faintly without looking up, and muttered as if to himself:
"Yes, yes; the captain put the ship ashore and we got her off."
Then, raising his head, he attacked grumpily the steward, a lanky, anxious youth with a long, pale face and two big front teeth.
"What makes this soup so bitter? I am surprised the mate can swallow the beastly stuff. I'm sure the cook's ladled some salt water into it by mistake."
The charge was so outrageous that the steward for all answer only dropped his eyelids bashfully.
There was nothing the matter with the soup. I had a second helping. My heart was warm with hours of hard work at the head of a willing crew. I was elated with having handled heavy anchors, cables, boats without the slightest hitch; pleased with having laid out scientifically bower, stream, and kedge exactly where I believed they would do most good. On that occasion the bitter taste of a stranding was not for my mouth. That experience came later, and it was only then that I understood the loneliness of the man in charge.
It's the captain who puts the ship ashore; it's we who get her off.
XXII.
IT SEEMS to me that no man born and truthful to himself could declare that he ever saw the sea looking young as the earth looks young in spring. But some
