“A boat! the devil you do!”
“To pick up our wherry, sir,” interrupted Tom.
“Pick it up yourself,” said the first lieutenant, passing us, and hailing the men aloft. “Maintop, there, hook on your stays. Be smart. Lower away the yards. Marines and after-guard, clear launch. Boatswain’s mate.”
“Here, sir.”
“Pipe marines and after-guard to clear launch.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“But we shall lose our boat, Jacob,” said Tom to me. “They stove it in, and they ought to pick it up.” Tom then went up to the master’s mate, which he had brought on board, and explained our difficulty.
“Upon my soul, I dar’n’t say a word. I’m in a scrape for breaking my leave. Why the devil didn’t you take care of your wherry, and haul a-head when you saw the launch coming?”
“How could we, when the chest was hoisting out?”
“Very true. Well, I am very sorry for you, but I must look after my chest.” So saying, he disappeared down the gangway ladder.