The change in him was startling.
We took advantage of their being on deck to open the windows and
air the after house. But all were securely locked and barred before
they went below again. It was the first time they had all been on
deck together since the night of the 11th. It was a different crowd
of people that sat there, looking over the rail and speaking in
monosyllables: no bridge, no glasses clinking with ice, no elaborate
toilets and carefully dressed hair, no flash of jewels, no light
laughter following one of poor Vail's sallies.
At ten o'clock they went below, but not until I had quietly located
every member of the crew. I had the watch from eight to twelve that
night, and at half after ten Mrs. Johns came on deck again. She did
not speak to me, but dropped into a steamer-chair and yawned,
stretching out her arms. By the light of the companion lantern, I
saw that she had put on one of the loose negligees she affected for
undress, and her arms were bare except for a fall of lace.
At eight bells (midnight) Burns took my place. Charlie Jones was at
the wheel, and McNamara in the crow's-nest. Mrs. Johns was dozing in
her chair. The yacht was making perhaps four knots, and, far behind,
the small white light of the jolly-boat showed where she rode.
I slept heavily, and at eight bells I rolled off my blanket and
prepared to relieve Burns.
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