“She’s evidently a whaler, crow’s-nest and all,” he said.
“Well,” said the captain, “we’ll w(h)ale her;” and he laughed at his own stupid joke.
“I say there, old lantern-jaws,” he bawled down the companion.
“I reckon,” said a Yankee voice, “you alludes to this child.”
“I do,” cried the captain; “and look ye here. We are going to fight and so forth. If we’re like to be bested, scupper the old man at once. D’ye hear?”
“Well, I guess I ain’t deaf.”
“Very well, then. Obey, or a short shrift yours will be.”
“Why, captain,” said the mate, “she knows us. She has put about, and is bearing away to the nor’-nor’-west.”
“Then hands up-anchor,” cried his superior. “Crowd all sail; she can’t escape us in her crippled condition.”
“Ah! captain,” the mate remarked, “had you taken my advice and given that pretty but sly minx the sack, ere she gave you the slip, that whaler would have been ours before now.”