All this time the sun was blazing hot, like a furnace heat in its effects. Even the wind was warm, and appeared as if from a stove-pipe. It was nearly midday, and the heat was tremendous. So I suggested lunch.
"Suppose we stand out a while, Murry, and pipe to dinner."
"Ay, ay," he replied, with a grin at my assumption of phrase. "It's eight bells, ain't it? Then make it so!"
"We don't want any 'observations,' Murry, I think," said I, smiling.
"No, sir; I ain't going to offer any except 'Hands, splice the mainbrace!'"
Tim laughed, and handed out the beer jar, and a quantity of slices of beef and bacon, some bread and condiments, pickled onions in a bottle, and a huge piece of strong cheese. Altogether it was a splendid dinner, and we fell to, lying gently over to the wind, and enjoyed the fare, the "ship" almost steering herself.
"Well, that's good catering, Tim. I think you are a splendid steward for a small craft," I said, after an interval, during which our attentions had been directed to the thwarts, on which our food was spread. "Now I think we may clear up, and keep our course."
"The weather don't seem so willing to clear up, though," said Murry. "That big, black cloud is sailing up hand over fist. That's a thun'er squall, sir, and we'd better reef the mainsail."
"For a summer squall like that!" I exclaimed. "Why, we shall be under shelter of the cliff before it comes up; and its coming off shore, you see, not on shore."
"Exactly," replied Murry, rising. "Bear a hand, Tim, my lad. Get in a couple of reefs. Lower the foresail afore ye come aft."