hate the sight of the steward, to abhor the voice of that harmless man.
I felt that it was he who would bring on the disaster of discovery. It
hung like a sword over our heads.

The fourth day out, I think (we were then working down the east side of
the Gulf of Siam, tack for tack, in light winds and smooth water)--the
fourth day, I say, of this miserable juggling with the unavoidable,
as we sat at our evening meal, that man, whose slightest movement I
dreaded, after putting down the dishes ran up on deck busily. This could
not be dangerous. Presently he came down again; and then it appeared
that he had remembered a coat of mine which I had thrown over a rail to
dry after having been wetted in a shower which had passed over the ship
in the afternoon. Sitting stolidly at the head of the table I became
terrified at the sight of the garment on his arm. Of course he made for
my door. There was no time to lose.

"Steward," I thundered. My nerves were so shaken that I could not govern
my voice and conceal my agitation. This was the sort of thing that made
my terrifically whiskered mate tap his forehead with his forefinger.
I had detected him using that gesture while talking on deck with a
confidential air to the carpenter. It was too far to hear a word, but
I had no doubt that this pantomime could only refer to the strange new
captain.

"Yes, sir," the pale-faced steward turned resignedly to me. It was this
maddening course of being shouted at, checked without rhyme or reason,
arbitrarily chased out of my cabin, suddenly called into it, sent flying
out of his pantry on incomprehensible errands, that accounted for the
growing wretchedness of his expression.