'Never mind him,' said the captain, apparently anxious to put an end to the dialogue; 'he's a saucy chap. A few hours' more pickling would have preserved him better. We'll get up to the top and rouse 'em up in the old Keep;' and he turned towards the narrow path which wound up the mountain side.
The cotters resident on the bleak island received them kindly, and, having dried their clothes and satisfied their hunger, proposed a turn in for a few hours' rest.
'I don't want any rest,' said Jim; 'I had a good sleep in one of the empty crates.'
'You had, eh?' replied Pickard; 'that's where you were hiding so long, was it? How did you get a berth there, I wonder?'
'Well, I was knocked up, and when the mate went down the fore-hatch I slipped after him.'
'I wish I'd pitched you overboard,' said Stauncy hastily; 'and very much inclined I feel to slip you down the Devil's Lime Kiln,[[1]] to spout your impudence to the gannets, or to the porpoises when they come in with the tide.'
[[1]] A singular hole so called, at the south-west point, about eighty yards square at the top, and 250 feet in depth, communicating by an outlet with the sea.
In fact, the 'prentice's disclosure of his sleeping quarters during the storm considerably discomposed the captain's serenity, calling up feelings whose first expression was anger; but, having lain down with the mate and cook, and spent an hour in reflection, he determined to proceed cautiously.
The morning broke with hopeful promise. A fresh, cold breeze, into which the gale had moderated, blew directly for the opposite quarter, as though the blustering tornado, having vented its passion, had turned repentant, and was now retracing its track with sober pace. There was still a tumbling sea on; but soon the bright blue sky and the sharp bracing air dispelled all omens suggested by the past, and a fleet of trawlers from Clovelly was to be seen dotting the heaving bosom of the ocean in all directions.
A signal was hoisted which drew one of the smacks towards the island, and Stauncy and his companions were consigned to the safe keeping of the master of a boat. The mate and Pickard settled down in the stern-sheets, and engaged in a close and earnest conversation with the steersman, whilst the captain went over the story of the storm to the skipper, and then slipped forward to the bow, where Jim Ortop was seated on a coil of rope, gazing intently into the sky.