"Hello!" cried several men at once.
"Hello!" cried I, in return. "Have you the key to these bars?"
A stout man with a red beard stood up in the stern. "Key?" said he, "what key?"
"Then you do not belong here?" said I. "Who are you?"
At this, the gentleman who was sitting by the lady arose to his feet. He was a man past middle age, rather tall and slim, and when he stood up the slight rolling of the boat made him stagger, and he came near falling.
"You'd better sit down, sir," said the man with the red beard, who I saw was a sailor. "You can talk better that way."
The gentleman now seated himself, and thus addressed me:
"I am, sir, the Reverend Mr. Enderton, lately missionary to Nanfouchong, China, and this is my daughter, Miss Enderton. We are returning to the United States by way of the Sandwich Islands, and took passage in a sailing-vessel for Honolulu. About two weeks ago this vessel, in some way which I do not understand, became disabled—"
"Rotten forem'st," interrupted the man with the red beard, "which give way in a gale; strained and leaky, besides."
"I did not know the mast was rotten," said the gentleman, "but, since the occasion of our first really serviceable wind, she has been making very unsatisfactory progress. And, more than that, the whole force of seamen was employed night and day in endeavoring to keep the water out of the tea, thereby causing such a thumping and pounding that sleep was out of the question. Add to this the fact that our meals became very irregular, and were sometimes entirely overlooked—"