Most of them were very
white and blue in the gills when we sat down, and others of a dingy sort
of whitey--brown, while they ogled the viands in a most suspicious manner.
Evidently most of them had but small confidence in their moniplies; and one
or two, as the ship gave a heavier roll than usual, looked wistfully
towards the door, and half rose from their chairs, as if in act to bolt.
However, hot brandy grog being the order of the day, we all, landsmen and
sailors, got on astonishingly, and numberless long yarns were spun of what
"what's--his--name of this, and so--and--so of t'other, did or did not do."
About half--past five in the evening, the captain of the transport, or
rather the agent, an old lieutenant in the navy, and our host, rang his
bell for the steward.
"Whereabouts are we in the fleet, steward?" said the ancient.
"The stern most ship of all, sir," said the man.
"Where is the Commodore?" "About three miles a--head, sir."
"And the Torch, has she rejoined us?"
"No, sir; she has been out of sight these two hours; when last seen she was
in chase of something in the south--east quarter, and carrying all the sail
she could stagger under."
"Very well, very well."
A song from Master Waistbelt, one of the young officers. Before he had
concluded, the mate came down. By this time it was near sun--down.
"Shall we shake a reef out of the main and mizzen--topsails, sir, and set
the mainsail and spanker? The wind has lulled, sir, and there is a strange
sail in the northwest that seems to be dodging us--but she may be one of
the merchantmen after all, sir.
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