The gloom now increased, so that the strange vessel’s hull could but just be discovered through the murky atmosphere. The seamen and passengers threw themselves down on their knees, and invoked their saints. The captain ran down for a candle, to light before the image of St. Antonio, which he took out of its shrine and kissed with much apparent affection and devotion, and then replaced.
Shortly afterwards the splash of oars was heard alongside, and a voice calling out, “I say, my good people, give us a rope from forward.”
No one answered, or complied with the request. Schriften only went up to the captain, and told him that if they offered to send letters they must not be received, or the vessel would be doomed, and all would perish.
A man now made his appearance from over the gunnel, at the gangway. “You might as well have let me had a side-rope, my hearties,” said he, as he stepped on deck; “where is the captain?”
“Here,” replied the captain, trembling from head to foot. The man who accosted him appeared a weather-beaten seaman, dressed in a fur cap and canvas petticoats; he held some letters in his hand.
“What do you want?” at last screamed the captain.
“Yes—what do you want?” continued Schriften, “He! he!”
“What, you here, pilot?” observed the man—“well—I thought you had gone to Davy’s locker, long enough ago.”
“He! he!” replied Schriften, turning away.
“Why, the fact is, captain, we have had very foul weather and we wish to send letters home; I do believe that we shall never get round this cape.”