There was a low murmur at this which sounded very much like assent.
“It’s narvous sort of work, you see. If the schooner had been fitted out as a sea-sarpinter with the right and proper sort of tackle, why, that’s another thing. But then you see, she aren’t been. We haven’t got the proper sort of tools, and we aren’t been drilled to use them even if we had.”
“That’s a true word, messmate,” came in chorus.
“And that’s why I says I hope she won’t look us up to-night; but if she is following us up and keeping one of them great sarcer eyes upon our keel somewheres far away down below, I hope she’ll leave it till morning. After sunrise we shall be able to see better, and have had time to get rid of a nasty unked sort of feeling which rather bothers me just now, though I don’t know how it is with you. There, Mr Rodd, sir, you faced the thing splendid. I see you, sir. You didn’t turn round and run away like Ikey Gregg. You stood fast there with your hands resting on the rail, staring the thing straight in the face. How you managed to do it I don’t know. But do it you did, and I admired you, sir.”
It was moonlight, and the change in Rodd’s face passed unobserved, but it was scarlet, and felt so hot that the boy involuntarily raised his hand to his cheek, while a feeling of annoyance pervaded him as he looked at Joe Cross suspiciously, in the belief that the man must be bantering him; but as far as the boy could make out, Joe Cross’s frank countenance was quite innocent of guile and he was speaking exactly as he felt.
But Rodd was not at rest, and in the calm still watch that followed, with every one on the look-out and ready to imagine that each phosphorescent flash in the sea meant the moving upwards of the uncanny enemy, Rodd waited till all was still and restful and they seemed likely to be undisturbed, to make his way to Joe Cross’s side and get him alone.