But Ralph was now fully aroused, and three minutes afterwards the three friends were splashing and dashing in the sea, mounting the rollers, diving and treading water, laughing and joking, and making more noise than all the gulls and kittywakes that screamed around them.
McBain had stopped on board to cook the breakfast, and it was all ready by the time they were dressed—fresh salmon steaks, new-laid eggs, and fragrant coffee.
“Now then, my lads,” cried McBain, “on deck all of you, and stand by to get the anchor up. I’ve sent a message to the squire, saying we must start, and bidding him good-bye for the present.
“Which way are we going, captain?” asked Rory.
“Up north, my lad,” was the reply. “Portree is our destination, and though by going south we would have a favouring wind at first, we would never get past Loch Alsh; besides, if you look at the chart you’ll find that northwards is nearer. And now, Rory, please, no more talk; you just untie the mainsail cover and undo the tyers, that’s your work, because you’re neat.”
“Thank you,” said Rory.
“Mainsheet all right?”
“All right, sir.”
“Well, heave away and shorten cable.
“So—top the boom, hook on, hoist together. Up goes the gaff. Well done, lads, and handily. Belay—why, I have hardly to speak. Well done again. Now, if your sheets are shipshape, up with the jib and foresail.