“Yes, sir; you are quite right there,” said the skipper, “and that’s what I’m hoping for. If we can only get the bit of time over ’twixt this and the dark, I shan’t care, for she won’t see us in the morning.”
By this time one of the sailors forward had noticed the skipper using the glass, seen what took his attention, and communicated it to his messmates, with the result that all who had been below gathered forward and stood anxiously watching the beautiful vessel, whose sails glistened in the sunshine as if their warp was of silver and their woof of gold.
Rodd noticed at once what a change had taken place amongst the men. All listlessness had gone, and they were watching the King’s ship, for such Captain Chubb had declared her to be at once, and were talking in excited whispers together, their manner showing that whatever the captain’s opinion might be, theirs was, as sailors, that they would not trust a King’s ship that was in want of men.
After a time Rodd was attracted towards them, and he strolled up, Joe Cross turning to him at once, to begin questioning him in a low tone.
“What does the skipper say, sir?”
“He said it was a sloop of war, Joe.”
“Oh yes, sir, we know that,” said the man irritably; “but we’ve been ’specting him here ever so long. So’s our bo’sun. There, look; he’s got his pipe in his hand. Didn’t he say nothing about no orders?”
“No, Joe.”
“Didn’t he say nothing about hysting another stunsail or two?”
“No, Joe.”