But Wicks and Carthew heeded him no longer. They lay
back on the gunwale, breathing deep, sunk in a stupor
of the body; the mind within still nimbly and agreeably
at work, measuring the past danger, exulting in the
present relief, numbering with ecstasy their ultimate
chances of escape. For the voyage in the man-of-war
they were now safe, yet a few more days of peril,
activity and presence of mind in San Francisco, and the
whole horrid tale was blotted out; and Wicks again
became Kirkup, and Goddedaal became Carthew--men beyond
all shot of possible suspicion, men who had never heard
of the FLYING SCUD, who had never been in sight of
Midway Reef.
So they came alongside, under many craning heads of
seamen and projecting mouths of guns; so they climbed
on board somnambulous, and looked blindly about them at
the tall spars, the white decks, and the crowding
ship's company, and heard men as from far away, and
answered them at random.
And then a hand fell softly on Carthew's shoulder.
"Why, Norrie, old chappie, where have you dropped from?
All the world's been looking for you.
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