And
one odd trifle gripped Madden's heart--the fresh paint over which the
crew had toiled so patiently looked old and dingy.
As he studied the scene, two seasick navvies tottered out on deck to
sniff the clean air. They dismally surveyed the traces of the storm.
Then they moved weakly toward the boy, who was now scrutinizing the
horizon with his glass.
"See any sign of 'er, sir?" asked Galton saluting.
Madden took down the binoculars. "Not a trace--feel better?"
"Some better, sir, but my stomach is still like th' hocean, sir, a bit
unsettled. May I arsk where we are, sir? I never saw such streaky water
before."
"Sargasso Sea," replied Leonard.
Galton grunted and stared at the spangled waves. Under its load of
seaweed, the sea was falling rapidly, and presently other seasick
navvies came on deck. A dismal lot they made, pasty and sick and
draggled.
"You fellows that are able," Madden addressed the group, "get buckets
and shovels and pile up that scattered coal. The exercise will make you
feel better. When the sea is smoother, we'll rig a jury mast on the
forward bridge for a signal."
A few of the men were still too sick, but most of the crowd shuffled off
to work. Some of the laborers drew off their pea jackets as they went,
for the murky day was filled with a rising humid warmth.
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