Saint Simon said no more, and Denis obeyed, grasping his companion’s reason, while the next minute the King had mounted to the deck, and came forward to join them, after making a rush to the bulwarks and grasping the rail.
“Oh, you’re here, gentlemen,” he said sharply. “Why was not somebody in attendance—oh, I see; you’re minding our steeds. It has been a very bad night for them. Not injured, I hope?”
“No, sir,” replied Saint Simon; “but during the worst part of the storm we had to have extra ropes. I was afraid at one time that we should lose them all.”
“But they are safe,” said the King, “thanks to you, gentlemen. Poor boys,” he continued, as he passed amongst the ropes, each charger in turn uttering a low, piteous whinny, and stretching out its muzzle to receive the King’s caress, each too snorting its satisfaction the next moment, and impatiently pawing the deck.
“Morning, master!” cried the skipper, hurrying up. “Been a windy night, but it will be all smooth directly. Wind’s veered round to the north, and coming off the shore. Sha’n’t be getting on so fast now.”
“But these horses,” said the King; “they ought to have water and food.”
“Not they, master. They wouldn’t touch it if you gave them of the best. They want to feel solid ground under their hoofs.”
“And how soon will they get that?” asked Denis quickly.
“Two or three hours if the wind doesn’t drop,” replied the skipper; “and,” he continued, as he held up his hand and shouted an order or two to his men to stand by the sheets, “it’s chopping round again to the south. Give us an hour like this, and we shall be in shelter, sailing between the island and the mainland. You can’t say but what we have had a splendid run.”
There was such a quaint comical expression upon the King’s countenance that Denis felt obliged to swing swiftly round and bend down to make believe to loosen the slip-knot about his charger’s leg.