"
Whi--whew, whi--whew, chirrup, chip, chip--the deck was alive in an
instant, "as bees biz out wi" angry fyke.
"Where is the captain of the mizzen--top?" growled the man in authority.
"Here, sir."
"Here, sir!--look at the weather--clew of the mizzen--topsail, sir, look
at that sail, sir,--how many turns can you count in that clew, sir?
Spring it, you no--sailor you--spring it, and set the sail again."
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable all this appeared to me at the
time I will remember; but the obnoxious turns were shaken out, and the
sail set again so as to please even the fastidious eye of the Lieutenant,
who, seeing nothing more to find fault with, addressed me once more.
"Have had no grub since morning, Mr Cringle; all the others are away in
the prizes; you are as good as one of us now, only want the order to
join, you know--so will you oblige me, and take charge of the deck, until
I go below and change my clothes, and gobble a bit?"
"Unquestionably,--with much pleasure."
He forthwith dived, and I walked aft a few steps towards where the old
quartermaster was standing on the gun.
"How is her head, Quartermaster?"
"South--east and by south, sir. If the wind holds, we shall weather
Morant Point, I think, sir."
"Very like, very like.--What is that glancing backwards and forwards
across the port--hole there, Quartermaster?"
"I told you so, Mafame," said the man; "what are you skylarking about the
mizen--chains for, man?--Come in, will you, come in.
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