"Well, Mac, heave round."
"Be back afore ye could say knife, sorr."
Creggan made a capital supper. Then he had just one game to please the youngsters.
"I'm dying with sleep, boys," he said, "so I'll turn in. Ta-ta, see you all in the morning."
He departed, leaving them singing, and, turning in, was soon sound and fast. And thus he slept till called to keep the morning watch.
It was a little cold, but Creggan had bent on his thickest pilot jacket, and the second lieutenant soon came stumping up, and he also had on his foul-weather gear.
But the wind had gone down considerably, and with it the sea. She had lost way, too. So Mellor sent men aloft to loosen and shake out sails. The effect was magical, and with the wind well abaft the beam the Osprey pulled herself together, threw off dull sloth and went through the water like a thing of life. All along the top-gallant bulwarks forward, the spray was sprinkled as the good ship spurned the billows, but nothing came aft.
Mr. Mellor, the lieutenant, a round-faced, fair-haired young Cornishman, strode up and down the deck talking, and smoking a short clay. Creggan and he were swapping yarns—humorous yarns mostly—and exchanging experiences, and were soon as well acquainted as if they had known each other for years.
Soon after five bells, a light was seen gradually spreading over the eastern horizon, getting higher and higher momentarily. It looked at first like the reflection of a far-off city on a dark night.
But the light grew whiter and brighter.