In no wise troubled by the pitching and tossing of the clumsy vessel, Denis climbed on deck; but it was some moments before he could make out where the captain stood, and then only by the help of one of the men, who pointed out the dim figure in the semi-darkness lightened by the foam, standing beside the man at the rudder beam; and then it needed no little care to pass along, holding on by the bulwarks, to ask the question the lad was sent to bear.
“How long, my lad?” said the skipper. “Oh, very soon. We are flying across to-night. This is the fastest run I can remember to have made.”
“But are we nearly there?”
“Nearly there! No, not halfway; but if the wind holds on like this we shall be across in time for dinner at noon to-morrow, and perhaps before.”
“So long as that?” cried Denis.
“So soon as that,” said the skipper, laughing. “There, I see how it is. You are afraid—”
“I’m not!” cried Denis sharply.
“Don’t be in such a hurry, my lad. You don’t give a man time to speak—about your horses, I was going to say. But they’re all right. I have another rope passed from neck to neck, and as soon as the poor beasts felt it it seemed to give them comfort, like being more in company. Don’t you be afraid. They’re noble animals, but not fit for work like this. Go and see.”
Denis hurried to where Saint Simon was standing with the horses, drenched with spray, and growing impatient at his task.
“Oh, there you are!” he cried. “Why didn’t you come before?”