“Well, Mr Troubridge, we shan’t have very long to wait afore we’re able to prove the haccuracy of your calculations; but let me tell ye this, sir—if you’re able to hit off that there bit of a hiland anywhere near as close as you hopes to, a’ter all the box-haulin’ about, breakin’ off, heavin’-to, and driftin’ to leeward that we’ve had these here last few days—well, all I can say is that you’re a good enough navigator to take a ship anywhere, ay, if ’twas round the world and back.”
“Y–e–es,” said I, flattered a bit off my balance by the fulsome character of the compliment, “there will not be much fault to find, I fancy, after the traverse that we have been working. By the way, Polson, have you ever sighted Saint Paul? I never have, although this is my fifth trip in these seas.”
“Well, no, sir; I can’t say as I have,” answered the boatswain. “But,” he continued, peering through the skylight at the cabin clock, “it’s eight bells. I’ll call Chips. I fancies I heard him say that he ’ad sighted it once or twice. I’ll ask him when he comes on deck.”
So saying, Polson walked to the bell, where it hung mounted on the rail that guarded the fore end of the poop, struck “eight bells” upon it, and then descended to call the carpenter, with whom he presently returned to the poop.
“Yes, Mr Troubridge,” continued the boatswain, as he preceded the carpenter up the weather poop ladder, “Chips, here, says he’ve sighted the hiland twice in his time; but only at a distance.”
“Ah!” said I. “Do you think you would recognise it again, Tudsbery?”
“Oh, yes, sir; no fear of that,” answered the carpenter confidently. “It’s a peculiar-lookin’ spot, not to be very easily mistook. I remembers that when we last sighted it I heard the mate say to the skipper that it looked pretty much like a dead whale floatin’ high out o’ the water; and he was right; it did. Oh yes, I’ll reckernize it again fast enough, if I claps my eyes upon it, never fear.”
“Well,” said I, “I expect it to heave in sight to-morrow at dawn, under the jibboom-end, some fourteen or fifteen miles distant, if the wind and weather last as they are now—which I believe will be the case, since the barometer remains steady. It is your morning watch, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir; my eight hours out to-night,” answered Chips.
“Then,” said I, turning to the boatswain, “when you call the carpenter to-morrow morning, at the end of the middle watch, please give me a call also; for, never yet having sighted the island, I should like to be on deck when it heaves into view, and get a good look at it.”