midday
Nothing moved on earth , on the waters , and above them in the unbroken lustre of the sky . On the unruffled surface of the straits the brig floated tranquil and upright as if bolted solidly , keel to keel , with its own image reflected in the unframed and immense mirror of the sea . To the south and east the double islands watched silently the double ship that seemed fixed amongst them forever , a hopeless captive of the calm , a helpless prisoner of the shallow sea . Since midday , when the light and capricious airs of these seas had abandoned the little brig to its lingering fate , her head had swung slowly to the westward and the end of her slender and polished jib-boom , projecting boldly beyond the graceful curve of the bow , pointed at the setting sun , like a spear poised high in the hand of an enemy . Right aft by the wheel the Malay quartermaster stood with his bare , brown feet firmly planted on the wheel-grating , and holding the spokes at right angles , in a solid grasp , as though the ship had been running before a gale . He stood there perfectly motionless , as if petrified but ready to tend the helm as soon as fate would permit the brig to gather way through the oily sea . The only other human being then visible on the brig 's deck was the person in charge : a white man of low stature , thick-set , with shaven cheeks , a grizzled moustache , and a face tinted a scarlet hue by the burning suns and by the sharp salt breezes of the seas .