“Ay, ay, Joe!” came in chorus.
“You see, sir, mostlings life on board a ship is so much hard work, and you has a lot of weather of some sort or another to fight agen; but with the ’ception of that bit of rough time getting into the French port, this ’ere’s been a regular holiday, and— Oh my! There she goes, lads!” groaned the poor fellow, for the hull of the sloop had been gradually rising more and more into sight, rapidly at last from the refraction as she had glided into a hotter stratum of air while nearing the schooner, and all at once a white puff of smoke had darted out of her bows, to be followed by a dull heavy thud, when the men turned as with one accord to gaze at their captain, as if hoping against hope that he would still hold on instead of giving an order to fat Gregg, the steersman, to throw the schooner up in the wind.
Chapter Twenty Three.
Suspicious Visitors.
There was a dead silence among the men as the soft white ball of smoke rose slowly and steadily, expanding the while and changing its shape till it became utterly diffused. The occupants of the schooner’s deck were statuesque in their rigidity, the crew to a man gazing hard at the captain as they strained their hearing to catch his next command; the captain fixed his eyes from one side upon Uncle Paul, while Rodd stood upon the other with his lips apart, gazing questioningly in his uncle’s half-closed lids, as the doctor leaned back in his deck-chair with a thoughtful frown upon his brow.
Then he started slightly, for the captain spoke.
“Well, sir,” he said, “what’s it to be?”
“What’s it to be, Captain Chubb? I do not quite understand you.”