With the view of getting a still clearer idea as to the possible advent of the desired breeze, Mr Bowen forthwith undertook a journey as far as the main-royal yard, upon which he comfortably established himself, with one arm round the royal-pole, whilst he carefully studied the aspect of the weather, and as carefully scrutinised the horizon to see whether there were any other craft in their immediate neighbourhood. No other sail excepting the schooner, however, was in sight in any direction; and having at length formed a tolerably clear opinion with regard to the weather, he descended again to the main-top, and remarked to George—
“That schooner must be coming up at the rate of about three knots, by the look of her.”
“Yes; about that,” answered George.
“And she’s about eight miles off now, I should say,” continued Bowen.
“Yes; about eight miles,” returned George, with his eye still peering through the telescope.
“Then,” remarked the mate, “it will take her a matter of some two hours and forty minutes, or thereabouts, to get alongside. And by that time, unless I am greatly mistaken, the first of the breeze will have reached us. I hope we shall get it before then; because in light winds I don’t doubt but what that craft could sail round and round us; but only let it come strong enough to oblige us to stow our royals, and I’ll bet my old hat that we can walk away from her. I’m afraid we sha’n’t scrape clear without finding out the weight of the shot she can pitch at us; but if our lads are only steady when the powder-burning begins, I sha’n’t feel noways very greatly concerned.”
With which summing up of the case Mr Bowen dropped into a sitting posture alongside his commander, and, letting his legs dangle down over the outer edge of the top, filled his pipe, and proceeded to regale himself with what he chose to term “two whiffs and a half.”