"Why, it doesn't look ten miles off," Bob said, in surprise.
"It is twice that. It is two or three and twenty, I should say.
"Now, the best thing you can do is to go down to the waist, slip off your togs, and have a few buckets of water poured over you. That will wake you up, and you will feel ever so much more comfortable, afterwards. I have just told the steward to make us a couple of cups of coffee. They will be ready by the time you have had your wash."
Bob followed the advice and, after a bath, a cup of coffee, and a biscuit, he no longer felt the effects from the shortness of the night. The sun had already risen, and there was not a cloud upon the sky.
"What are those, over there?" he asked, pointing to the southeast. "They look like sails."
"They are sails. They are the upper sails of the Spanish fleet. I expect they are trying to work back into the bay again, but they won't do it, unless they get more wind. You see, I have taken the topgallant sails off the brig, so as not to be seen.
"There is the Spanish coast, you see, twelve or fourteen miles away, to port. If you like, you can take the glass and go up into the maintop, and see if you can make anything out on shore."
Bob came down in half an hour.
"There are some fishing boats," he said, "at least, they look like fishing boats, close inshore, just abreast of us."
"Yes, there are two or three little rivers on this side of Malaga. There is not water in them for craft of any size, but the fishing boats use them. There is a heavy swell sets in here, when the wind is from the east with a bit south in it, and they run up there for shelter."