“You’re devilish free with your tongue, my youngster. Easy, pull his ears for me.”
“Pull them easy, Jack, then,” said the boy, laughing.
“All hands make sail!” now resounded at the hatchways.
“There they are, depend upon it,” cried Gascoigne, catching up his hat and bolting out of the berth, followed by all the others except Martin, who had just been relieved, and thought that his presence in the waist might be dispensed with for the short time, at least, which it took him to swallow a cup of tea.
It was very true; a galliot and four lateen vessels had just made their appearance round the easternmost point, and, as soon as they observed the frigate, had hauled their wind. In a minute the Aurora was under a press of canvas, and the telescopes were all directed to the vessels.
“All deeply laden, sir,” observed Mr Hawkins, the chaplain; “how the topsail of the galliot is scored!”
“They have a fresh breeze just now,” observed Captain Wilson to the first lieutenant.
“Yes, sir, and it’s coming down fast.”
“Hands by the royal halyards, there.”
The Aurora careened with the canvas to the rapidly increasing breeze.