Jack gave a wild look round, his eyes full of despair, but he said nothing, only felt that he was bidding good-bye to home, land, ease, and comfort for ever, and followed his father to the boat.
Two hours after they were standing out to sea, with Jack, Sir John, and the doctor watching the receding shore, the two latter feeling some slight degree of compunction at the last; but Edward was below inspecting the cabins once more, and as soon as he had done this, in spite of the yacht beginning to heel over so that the cabin floor was a good deal higher on one side than the other, he folded his arms, frowned, set his teeth, and began the first steps of a hornpipe, but before he had gone far a lurch sent him head-first toward the port bulkhead. Here he saved himself by thrusting out his hands, turned, and began again.
“Very well, uphill if you like,” he cried, and he danced from port toward starboard. But this time his legs seemed to have turned wild, and he staggered to right.
“Wo-ho! heave-ho! you lubbers!” he cried, and giving a lurch to right, but with desperate energy he saved himself from a fall, and tried to begin again.
“Now then,” he cried, “from the beginning! Wo-ho! No, I mean yo-ho!” he muttered. “Why, it’s like trying to dance on horseback. Here goes again. Tiddly-um-tum-tum! Tiddle-liddle-iddle iddle-liddle iddle-rum-tum!”—“Bang.”
Edward crashed against one of the little state-room doors, cannoned off, and came down sitting on the cabin floor.
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” cried the man. “Well, if you’re going to dance it, I’ll wait till you’ve done.”
“Anything the matter?” said a voice, and the steward came in.
“Nothing particular,” said Sir John’s man, “unless it’s the yacht gone mad.”
“Oh, this is nothing,” said the steward. “A bit lively after being at anchor so long.”