“My brave little girl!” he said, as I had made an end of my story; but I could not think what there was of bravery in laying perdu, and listening to conspirators. Had I not given him counsel, though, I think he would have been for dashing upon the three who thus conspired, and smiting them hip and thigh. But I told him to communicate in secret with Mr. Waters, and they two together might make plans of strategy which would avail without bloodshed; and he did so.
It was unfortunate that the captain was entirely without firearms of any kind. I think I myself would have dared to use one in such an emergency. But he whispered to me in the morning that he had that which should serve the same end; and with a beating heart I awaited the result.
The calm remained into the forenoon of the next day. The sea was like oily glass, without a ripple as far as one could view, and the sun made itself hardly to be endured, so fierce did it beat down upon the scorched deck, in the seams of which the pitch fairly melted. The sails hung without motion against the mast, and the wheel was idle.
With a heart fast beating I followed the captain, who had told me to be without fear, upon the deck.
“I wish we had a couple of the turtle that are laying round so plenty, asleep on the water, this morning,” said the captain, as if to myself, who, stood by him, though in a careless way.
I had no meaning of his words, but Atkin, who was near, looked at the black specks upon the water some distance away, with interest.
“Yes, sir,” he made reply, “there’s always lots of them about the Azores in calm weather—nice soup they make, too.”
“You might take the longboat, if you like, Mr. Atkin,” said the captain with a yawn, as if it had but then occurred to him, “and with your watch take two or three—it would be a change from salt beef.”
“Very well, sir,” Atkin replies; for this man was a lover of nice food—a gourmand. “Here, you Joe and Jerry, get the boat over the side.”
