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Directly I had grappled with the difficulty he caused another to



present itself, and when that, too, was met he stuck another ship

before me, creating a very dangerous situation. I felt slightly



outraged by this ingenuity in piling trouble upon a man.

"I wouldn't have got into that mess," I suggested, mildly. "I



could have seen that ship before."

He never stirred the least bit.



"No, you couldn't. The weather's thick."

"Oh! I didn't know," I apologized blankly.



I suppose that after all I managed to stave off the smash with

sufficient approach to verisimilitude, and the ghastly business



went on. You must understand that the scheme of the test he was

applying to me was, I gathered, a homeward passage--the sort of



passage I would not wish to my bitterest enemy. That imaginary

ship seemed to labour under a most comprehensive curse. It's no



use enlarging on these never-ending misfortunes; suffice it to

say that long before the end I would have welcomed with gratitude



an opportunity to exchange into the Flying Dutchman. Finally he

shoved me into the North Sea (I suppose) and provided me with a



lee shore with outlying sand-banks--the Dutch coast, presumably.

Distance, eight miles. The evidence of such implacable animosity



deprived me of speech for quite half a minute.

"Well," he said--for our pace had been very smart, indeed, till



then.

"I will have to think a little, sir."



"Doesn't look as if there were much time to think," he muttered,

sardonically, from under his hand.



"No, sir," I said, with some warmth. "Not on board a ship, I

could see. But so many accidents have happened that I really



can't remember what there's left for me to work with."

Still half averted, and with his eyes concealed, he made



unexpectedly a grunting remark.

"You've done very well."



"Have I the two anchors at the bow, sir?" I asked.

"Yes."



I prepared myself then, as a last hope for the ship, to let them

both go in the most effectual manner, when his infernalsystem of



testing resourcefulness came into play again.

"But there's only one cable. You've lost the other."



It was exasperating.

"Then I would back them, if I could, and tail the heaviest hawser



on board on the end of the chain before letting go, and if she

parted from that, which is quite likely, I would just do nothing.



She would have to go."

"Nothing more to do, eh?"



"No, sir. I could do no more."

He gave a bitter half-laugh.



"You could always say your prayers."

He got up, stretched himself, and yawned slightly. It was a



sallow, strong, unamiable face. He put me, in a surly, bored

fashion, through the usual questions as to lights and signals,



and I escaped from the room thank fully--passed! Forty minutes!

And again I walked on air along Tower Hill, where so many good



men had lost their heads because, I suppose, they were not

resourceful enough to save them. And in my heart of hearts I had



no objection to meeting that examiner once more when the third

and last ordeal became due in another year or so. I even hoped I



should. I knew the worst of him now, and forty minutes is not an

unreasonable time. Yes, I distinctly hoped. . . .



But not a bit of it. When I presented my self to be examined for

master the examiner who received me was short, plump, with a



round, soft face in gray, fluffy whiskers, and fresh, loquacious

lips.



He commenced operations with an easy going "Let's see. H'm.

Suppose you tell me all you know of charter-parties." He kept it



up in that style all through, wandering off in the shape of

comment into bits out of his own life, then pulling himself up



short and returning to the business in hand. It was very

interesting. "What's your idea of a jury-rudder now?" he



queried, suddenly, at the end of an instructiveanecdotebearing




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