The King’s Ship.
It was the afternoon of a blazing hot day, when the pitch was oozing out in drops in every exposed place, and Rodd had found it exceedingly unpleasant to touch any piece of the brass rail, bolt, the bell, or either of the guns, for the schooner was gliding on southward with every scrap of her white sails spread, and the wind that wafted her onward sent a feeling of lassitude through all on board.
Some days before, Captain Chubb had set his men to work to rig up a small awning aft, and the doctor having declared that it was too hot for work, he and Rodd had spent most of their time beneath this shelter, till the latter had struck against it, declaring it was all nonsense, for the sun came hotter through the canvas than it did where there was no shade at all, or else it seemed to, for there was no breeze in the shelter, and though what wind there was seemed as if it had come past the mouth of a furnace, still it was wind, and the lad declared that it was far preferable to stewing under the awning.
It was a lazy time, and the men, who had dressed as lightly as they could contrive, went very slowly about their several tasks, and at last when Rodd strolled towards the man at the wheel, he had to listen to a petition.
It was fat Isaac Gregg who was taking his trick, as he called it, and he began at Rodd at once.
“I’ve got something to ask you, sir,” he said.
“Oh, bother!” cried Rodd, taking off his straw hat to turn it into a fan. “It’s too hot to listen. Don’t ask me anything, because if you do, I shall be too stupid to tell you.”
“Oh, it aren’t hard, sir,” said the man innocently, as he let a couple of spokes pass through his hands and then ran them back again. “It’s only as the lads asked me—”
“Well, well, go on,” said Rodd, for the man stopped. “Phew! It’s just as if the tops of the waves where they curl over were white hot.”
“Yes, sir, it is a bit warm,” said the man; “but I’ve felt it warmer.”