Trunnell here spat profusely to leeward and walked athwartships for some moments without further remark. The third mate came on deck and stood near the lee mizzen rigging, looking forward at the foam swirling from the bends and drifting aft alongside at a rapid rate. The phosphorus shone brilliantly in the water, and the wake of the ship was like a path of molten metal, for the night was quite dark and the heavy banks of clouds which had been making steadily to the westward over-spread the sky. It was nearly time for the southwest monsoon to shift, and with this change would likely follow a spell o' weather, as Trunnell chose to put it. The third mate had never given an order since he had come aboard, and I noticed Trunnell's sly wink as he glanced in the direction of the mizzen.

"Mr. Rolling," said he, "wimmen have been my ruin. Yes, sir, wimmen have been my ruin, an' I'm that scared o' them I can raise them afore their topmast is above the horizon. Sink me, if that ain't one." And he leered at the figure of the third mate, whom we knew as Mr. Bell.

"What would a woman be doing here as third mate?" I asked; for although I had come to the same conclusion some days before, I had said nothing to any one about it.

"That's the old man's affair," said Trunnell; "it may be his wife, or it may be his daughter, but any one can see that the fellow's pants are entirely too big in the heft for a man. An' his voice! Sink me, Rolling, but you never hearn tell of a man or boy pipin' so soft like. Why, it skeers me to listen to it. It's just like—but no matter."

"Like what?" I suggested gently, hoping much.

But it was of no use. Trunnell looked at me queerly for a moment as if undecided to give me his confidence. Then he resumed his walk athwart the deck, and I went forward to the break of the poop and took a look at the head sails.

The night was growing darker, and the breeze was dying slowly, and I wondered why the skipper had not come on deck to take a look around. He was usually on hand during the earlier hours of evening.

I reached the side of the third officer, and stood silently gazing at the canvas which shone dimly through the gathering gloom. As we had always been separated on account of being in different watches, I had never addressed the third mate before save in a general way when reporting the ship's duties aft.

"Pretty dark night, hey?" I ventured.

The third officer looked hard at me for the space of a minute, during which time his face underwent many changes of expression. Then he answered in a smooth, even tone.

"Sorter," said he.

This was hardly what I expected, so I ventured again.

"Looks as if we might have a spell o' weather, hey? The wind's falling all the time, and if it keeps on, we'll have a calm night without a draught of air."

"What do you mean by a ca'm night without a draft of air?" asked the young fellow, in a superior tone, while at the same time I detected a smile lurking about the corners of his eyes.

If there's one thing I hate to see in a young fellow, it is the desire to make fun of a superior's conversation. Being an American sailor, I had little use for r's in every word which held an a but I had no objection to any one else talking the way they wished. I was somewhat doubtful just how to sit upon this nebulous third mate, so I began easily.

"Do you know," said I, "there are a great many young fellows going out in ships as officers when they could be of much more benefit to people generally if they stayed home and helped their mothers to 'bark cark,' or do other little things around the nursery or kitchen."

As I finished I thought I heard some one swear fiercely in a low tone. I looked over the poop rail down to the main deck beneath, but saw no one near. The third officer seemed to be lost in thought for a moment.

"It isn't good to be too clever," said he, in the tone which was unmistakably a woman's. "When a person is good at baking cake, or 'barking cark,' as you choose to call it, the sea is a good place for them. They can look out for those who haven't sense enough to perform the function."

I had a strong notion to ask him outright if he was fitted to perform the function, but his superior air and the feeling that I might make a mistake after all and incur the displeasure of the beak-nosed skipper deterred me. But I was almost certain that our third mate was a woman.

We remained standing together in the night for a few moments while neither spoke. My advances had not received the favorable acknowledgment I had expected, and there was a distinctly disagreeable feeling creeping upon me while in this neutral presence. I was young and hot-headed, so I spoke accordingly before leaving the field, or rather deck, in retreat.

"I wish you had the distinction of belonging to the port watch."

"Why?"

"I think I might strengthen your powers of discernment regarding the relative positions of second and third mates."

"We'll see who has the better insight in regard to the matter without my being bored to that extent," said the third officer in his softest tones, and again I fancied I heard the voice of a man swearing fiercely in a low voice as if to himself. Then I turned and went aft.

"It's something queer," said Trunnell, shaking his great shaggy head and glancing toward the break of the poop. A step sounded on the companion ladder, and the skipper came on deck.

"Pretty dark, hey?" he said, and his quick eyes took in both Trunnell and myself comprehensively.

"Looks like we might have a spell o' weather if the wind keeps fallin'," observed Trunnell.

"Well, I don't suppose a dark night is any worse than a bright one, and I call to mind many a time I'd give something to see it a bit blacker. Do you know where you're at?"

"She's headin' about the same, but if ye don't mind, I'll be gettin' her down gradual like to her torps'ls if the glass keeps a-fallin'. Short commons, says I, on the edge o' the monsoon."