The old
quartermaster, who was cunning the ship, and had perched himself on a
carronade, with his arm leaning on the weather nettings, was equally
motionless. The watch had all disappeared forward, or were stowed out of
sight under the lee of the boats; the first Lieutenant, as if captivated
by the serenity of the scene, was leaning with folded arms on the weather
gangway, looking abroad upon the ocean, and whistling now and then
either for a wind, or for want of thought. The only being who showed
sign of life was the man at the wheel, and he scarcely moved, except now
and then to give her a spoke or two, when the cheep of the tiller--rope,
running through the well--greased leading blocks, would grate on the ear
as a sound of some importance; while in daylight, in the ordinary bustle
of the ship, no one could say he ever heard it.
Three bells!--"Keep a bright look--out there," sung out the Lieutenant.
"Ay, ay, sir," from the four look--out men, in a volley.
Then from the weather--gangway, "All's well" rose shrill into the night
air.
The watchword was echoed by the man on the forecastle, re--echoed by the
lee--gangway look--out, and ending with the response of the man on the
poop. My dream was dissipated--and so was the first lieutenant's, who
had but little poetry in his composition, honest man.
"Fine night, Mr Cringle. Look aloft, how beautifully set the sails are;
that mizzen--topsail is well cut, eh? Sits well, don't it? But confound
the lubbers! Boatswain's mate, call the watch.
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