“I hope they won’t come,” said Syd, half to himself.
“Now, now, now, sir; no yarns to an old sailor,” said the boatswain, chuckling. “I can believe a deal, but I can’t believe that.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Strake. Look here, is there anything else to be done?”
“Well, sir, it seems to me, going over it all as I have been, that you’ve been thinking that we’ve got our prog here, and some water, and not enough of it till the frigate comes back, so that you might put the lads on ’lowance so as to make sure.”
“Ah, I had not thought of that.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, you had, only it hadn’t come up yet. That there was a thing to be thought on by a commanding orficer, and course you thought on it, on’y talking to me promiskus like you forgetted it. Then there’s another thing. The skipper never thought ’bout going far away from here, I s’pose, and there’s precious little wood, so I’ll tell the cook he’s to let it off easy, if so be as you says I am.”
“Yes, of course, Strake. Tell him.”
“Ay, ay, sir. We may have the luck to get some drift timber chucked up among the rocks; but if we do it’ll want a deal o’ drying ’fore it’s good to burn.”
“No, we must not reckon on that.”
“Arter seeing to these two or three little things ’cordin’ to your orders, sir, I should say that you’ve got as snug a little fort to hold as any one could wish, and all you’ll want then is a sight o’ the enemy to make you quite happy.”