“More shame for them!” said the middy quickly. “Hi! Look there, Dick; what’s that?”
He seized the sailor by the shoulder, and pointed where, some five hundred yards away, close under the cliff, but on the rise of the line of breakers, there was something swimming slowly along.
Dick shaded his eyes, for no reason whatever, the sun being at his back, and gazed at the object in the water.
“’Tarnt a porpus,” he said thoughtfully.
“As if I didn’t know that,” cried the lad; and, running aft, he descended into the cabin, and returned with a glass, which he focussed and gazed through at the object rising steadily and falling with the heave of the sea.
“See her, sir?”
“Yes,” answered the middy, with his glass at his eye. “It’s a bullock or a cow.”
“Werry like, sir. There is sea-cows, I’ve heared.”
“Oh, but this isn’t one of them. I believe it’s a real cow, Dick.”
“Not she, sir. Real cows lives in Lincolnshire, and feeds on grass. I never see ’em go in the sea, only halfway up their legs in ponds, and stand a-waggin’ their tails to keep off the flies. This here’s a sea-cow, sir, sartin.”