Pike had become, what in truth was
all he was, the foreman of a gang of men, the slave-driver of slaves,
serving the one from beyond--the Samurai.
A minute or so longer Captain West strolled up and down, leaning
easily into the face of this new and abominable gale or resting his
back against it, and then he went below, pausing for a moment, his
hand on the knob of the chart-room door, to cast a last measuring
look at the storm-white sea and wrath-sombre sky he had mastered.
Ten minutes later, below, passing the open cabin door, I glanced in
and saw him. Sea-boots and storm-trappings were gone; his feet, in
carpet slippers, rested on a hassock; while he lay back in the big
leather chair smoking dreamily, his eyes wide open, absorbed, non-
seeing--or, if they saw, seeing things beyond the reeling cabin walls
and beyond my ken. I have developed an immense respect for Captain
West, though now I know him less than the little I thought I knew him
before.
CHAPTER XIII
Small wonder that Miss West remains sea-sick on an ocean like this,
which has become a factory where the veering gales manufacture the
selectest and most mountainous brands of cross-seas.
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