'A sail in sight, Peter?'
The old man hopped down from his perch at the sound of the Commodore's voice, hastily clapped a quid into his mouth, which he had just cut off for that very purpose, doffed his hat, and laid hold of his crutches, all which ceremonies he went through with a celerity quite surprising.
'I was thinking, your honor, that there's goin' to be foul weather outside to-night; them clouds look squally, and they keep growing thicker and thicker.'
'It certainly looks threatening, Peter.'
'It looks very threatening, your honor; and I don't care, for one, how hard it comes, so it will only blow them ugly black craft that are laying off and on there, high and dry somewhere or another.'
'That, to be sure, Peter; they would have an uneasy berth of it in a heavy gale, where they now are.'
'They would, sir, you may depend on it; and I think they're a little uneasy a-ready, for the biggest on 'em have clawed off out of sight, and the others that were at anchor have hauled up, and are starting too. If your honor will look through the glass, you can see all their movements. They'll have a time on it—there, did you hear that, your honor?'
'A gun, Peter, and a heavy one, but at a great distance.'
'I've heard several on 'em, your honor, before; there's something to pay, out there; they wouldn't fire such metal as that for signals.'
'Well, I only wish they were out of the way for a few weeks, Peter. Captain Sam would stand but a poor chance if he should get among them.'