“Oh no, it wasn’t, old chap; it was ill. There we were regularly becalmed, and if the wind didn’t keep along astern of the schooner and carry her right away, till she was hull down, and then by degrees we lost sight of her sails, and the game was up.”
“Then you didn’t take her?” cried Mark.
“Take her? How could we take her when we were becalmed?”
“And the Yankee skipper got right away?”
“Right away, a robber; and took the prize-money we had so honestly earned along with him. All that trouble for nothing; and what was worse, we couldn’t come in search of you, for it fell about the deadest calm I ever saw in all my experience at sea, and that isn’t saying much, is it, Van?”
“Oh!” ejaculated Mark, “how horrible! You ought to have caught her, Bob.”
“That’s right jump on me just as if I didn’t do my best.”
“Go on now, and tell me the rest,” said Mark sadly. “Not that it is of much consequence. I know you picked us up.”
“Oh, well, I may as well tell you, though, as you say, it was of no consequence whatever. Government could have afforded a new first and second cutter and tackle; men are plentiful; and as to officers, there’s any number in stock.”
“Don’t chaff, Bob. Tell me, there’s a good chap. You came on then in search of us as soon as you knew that you couldn’t catch the schooner.”