This was from the first man who had spoken; but his words were not received with much favour, and as in a lull of the wind one of the men had to use a glass, he growled out:
“Well, I dunno ’bout sending one’s ship to sea in such a storm, but I don’t see as it’s such a very great blessing not to have one of your own, speshly if she happened to be a brig like Mast’ Van Heldre’s!”
“Hold your row,” said a man beside him, as he drove his elbow into his ribs, and gave a side jerk of his head.
The man thus adjured turned sharply, and saw close to him a sturdy-looking figure clothed from head to foot in black mackintosh, which glistened as it dripped with the showery spray.
“Ugly day, my lads.”
“Ay, ay, sir; much snugger in port than out yonder.”
Boom! came a heavy blow from a wave, and the offing seemed to be obscured now by the drifting spray.
Van Heldre focussed a heavy binocular, and gazed out to sea long and carefully.
“Any one been up to the look-out?” he said, as he lowered his glass.
“Two on us tried it, sir,” said one of the men, “but the wind’s offle up yonder, and you can’t see nothing.”