“Well, sir, if we were close to some port I should say, no, certainly not; but seeing where we are, there’s only one thing to be done.”
“Yes? And that—?” cried the Count.
“Do it, sir. But it will take some time.”
The Count made an impatient gesticulation, and then threw his hands apart in a deprecating way, as if he accepted the position in despair.
“Yes,” he said; “you brave Englishmen, you never give up. You will do it, then?”
“Oh yes, sir; we’ve got to do it; and what do they say? Time and tide wait for no man; so I’ll thank you all to clear off and let me and my lads get to work. Only look here, sir; there’s going to be no hoisting and lowering here. We shall have to keep the brig lying on her side without any temporary patches, and the tide will have to flow in and out, even if it does some damage to your stores. So while my lads are stripping off the copper, you will keep your men busy with your hatches open to make a pretty good clearance inside, so that we can work in there as well as out here.”
“Yes, yes,” said the Count, who seemed to quite resign himself in full obedience to the skipper’s wishes. “But you will use all the speed you can?”
“You may trust me for that, sir,” said Captain Chubb; for after two or three attempts in the early parts of the proceedings connected with the repairs, and saying Monsieur le Count, the blunt Englishman gave it up in favour of plain straightforward “sir,” and stuck to it; while the titled captain seemed to like the Englishman none the less.
“Now,” said the captain, as he climbed back on to the sloping deck, following the others, “I didn’t know that your brig would be so bad as this, but I had my suspicions, and when I have not been busy here I have been casting my eye round for a good crooked bit of timber that would make a ship’s knee if I wanted one.”
“And do you know where there is one?”