“Come, tumble up, my lads, and pump the ship out,” said the mate from above; “we had almost forgotten that. Be smart, now; it’s but a ten minutes’ job.”
Thus broke off the story, much to my annoyance; but it could not be helped—ships must be pumped out—so the men went on deck, and I followed them.
Chapter Twenty Three.
“Recollect,” says the fellow, “you have thrown overboard a black tom cat!”
In a quarter of an hour the pump sucked, and we all hastened down below to our grog and the completion of our yarn. As soon as we were all comfortably seated as before, Dick recommenced.
“Well, we were abreast of Malta, when the weather, which had hitherto on the voyage been very fine, changed. The clouds hung down very heavy, and there was every symptom of a fierce gale; and sure enough a worse gale I never was in than came on that night—and such a sea!—the ship rolled gunnel under, for the gale was fair, but the sea ran so high and so fast that we expected to be pooped every minute. It was about midnight when the rain came on in torrents, and the wind blew fiercer than ever. I was on deck, and so was the first mate and another man at the helm, for we were flying right before it, and she was hard to steer.
“‘We shall have it worse yet,’ said the captain.
“‘Miaw!’ was the reply, so clear, so loud, we could not tell where it came from. I thought it came from the main-top.