The sailors and Captain Pickersgill all rose and went to the window, to ascertain Corbett’s fortune by this new species of augury. The blue pigeon flapped his wings, and then he sidled up to the white one; at last, the white pigeon flew off the wall and settled on the roof of the adjacent house. “Bravo, white pigeon!” said Corbett; “I shall be here again in a week.” The whole party, laughing, then resumed their seats; and Morrison’s countenance brightened up. As he took the glass of wine poured out by Pickersgill, he said, “Here’s your health, Corbett; it was all nonsense, after all—for, d’ye see, I can’t be put in jail, without you are. We all sail in the same boat, and when you leave me you take with you everything that can condemn the vessel—so here’s success to our trip.”
“We will all drink that toast, my lads, and then on board,” said the captain; “here’s success to our trip.”
The captain rose, as did the mates and men, drank the toast, turned down the drinking-vessels on the table, hastened to the wharf, and, in half an hour, the Happy-go-lucky was clear of the port of Saint Malo.
Chapter Four.
Portland Bill.
The Happy-go-lucky sailed with a fresh breeze and a flowing sheet from Saint Malo, the evening before the Arrow sailed from Barn Pool. The Active sailed from Portsmouth the morning after.
The yacht, as we before observed, was bound to Cowes, in the Isle of Wight. The Active had orders to cruise wherever she pleased within the limits of the admiral’s station; and she ran for West Bay, on the other side of the Bill of Portland. The Happy-go-lucky was also bound for that bay to land her cargo.
The wind was light, and there was every appearance of fine weather, when the Happy-go-lucky, at ten o’clock on the Tuesday night, made the Portland lights; as it was impossible to run her cargo that night, she hove to.