“Well, you asked for soup,” observed Courtenay.
“Yes, and my friend has helped me very liberally,” replied Jerry, who was not at all out of humour, except when he was foiled with his own weapons. In the meantime, Paul, who was a little stunned with the blow he had received on his head, had continued on the floor rolling in the pea-soup, and was just attempting to get on his legs.
“You’ve got it all to yourself there, Mr Paul. As you seem to like it, perhaps you would prefer a spoon,” said Jerry, offering him one at the same time.
“I say, Paul, what a capital harlequin you would make,” observed Peter.
Paul, who had recovered his legs, and now clung on by the table, looked an answer horribly asquint, as if he did not admire the joke; but he resumed his seat at the table.
The remainder of the dinner was brought down without further accident occurring; and by the time it was over, as the bottle had to be passed round, and everybody was obliged to drink off immediately, and put his wine-glass inside his waistcoat to save it from perdition, they all were very merry and happy before the repast had been concluded. “There,” said Jerry, stroking himself down when he had finished his cheese, as if he were a Falstaff; “a kitten might play with me now.”
“More than one dare do with me,” rejoined Peter, “for I’m cursedly inclined to shoot the cat.”
But as the second evening closed in, the sky was loaded with heavy clouds—the scud flew wildly past them—the sea increased to mountains high—and the gale roared through the rigging of the schooner, which was now impelled before it under bare poles. They were really in danger. The hatches were battened down fore and aft—the ports were knocked out to allow the escape of the water, which poured over in such volumes as would otherwise have swamped the vessel—and Courtenay and his crew remained on deck until dawn of day, when the violence of the gale seemed to have abated.
Courtenay desired Seymour and Jerry to turn in, and relieve him at eight o’clock. Our hero and Jerry went down into the cabin, where they found the two passengers, who, although they had not come on deck during the night, had not retired to bed. Peter was sitting up to windward on the locker, looking very pale and very sea-sick. Paul was on the cabin-floor, with one hand holding on by the leg of the table, and a bottle of brandy in the other. His prayer-book he had abandoned during a fright, and it was washing about in the lee-scuppers. Jerry was delighted, but put on a rueful face.
“Well,” observed Paul, who was nearly frightened out of his wits, “how is it now?”