“I can’t make out, sir.”
“Why not? Have you counted them?”
Now, as I before stated, I had taken off my hat, and was standing up in a fit of natural devotion; and the captain, no doubt, thought that I was bareheaded, and shading my eyes, the better to reckon the convoy. To lie would have been so easy, and I was tempted to reply to the question, that I had. But my better feelings predominated; so, at the risk of a reprimand, I answered, “Not yet, sir.”
At this moment Mr Silva, the lieutenant of the watch, placed the mast-head look-outs, and sent the signal-man up to assist me in counting the convoy; and, at the same time, the latter bore me a quiet message, that when the number was ascertained I might come down.
I came on deck, and gave the report.
“I am very glad, Mr Rattlin,” said the captain, approvingly, “to see you so attentive to your duty. No doubt you went up of your own accord to count the convoy?”
“Indeed, sir,” said I, with a great deal of humility, “I did not.”
“What—how? I thought when I came on deck I heard you singing out.”
“I was mast-headed, sir.”
“Mast-headed! How—for what?”