“Ah! you will not enjoy that luxury for this voyage,” said the Parson; “the English ships always keep inside the line of sandbanks on the Norfolk coast; almost all we have met outside, as you may have remarked, are foreigners.”
“Outside barbarians!” said the Captain, who was not in a good humour.
By this time the clue-garnets had been leisurely manned, one at a time, and the mainsail was hanging in festoons from its yard; Torgensen himself steering, as, indeed, he had done for the last hour, and also giving the word of command. The wind was as light as could be, so that it really did not signify, except for fidgettiness, on which tack she was.
The helm had been a-lee for about a minute, and the men were at their stations for “mainsail haul,” while the brig went creeping and creeping into the wind. The men began sniggering and joking to one another, but their jokes being Norwegian, were for the most part lost on the passengers.
“What is that young fool about?” said the Parson, who had not risen from his recumbent posture; “he will have the brig in irons before he can look round. Jump up and see what is the matter.”
The Captain scrambled on to the forebitts, so as to look over the hurricane-house, and burst out laughing. “Bother the fellow! if he is not reading ‘Peter Simple,’[65] and jamming his helm hard a-lee with his hinder end. Why, Torgensen! Torgensen! what the Devil are you about? the brig has been in the wind this half-hour!”
Torgensen started up, flinging his book on the deck, righted his helm, and bellowed out his next command. It was loud enough to startle the mermaids in their coral caves; but noise will not compensate for slackness; the brig was already nearly head to wind, and there she hung—she would not go an inch farther for any one, and at last fell off again. Torgensen was obliged to wear her, after all.
He swore, however, he did it on purpose, in order to get a cast of the lead, as he had not got one for the whole watch. This did not seem to the Parson so very indispensable, seeing that in the whole of that forenoon watch they had not shifted their position four miles; nevertheless, to suit the action to the word, Torgensen did lay his main top-sail aback, and armed his lead with as much gravity as if he really expected that the sand and shells brought up by this cast would be different from the sand and shells brought up by the last.
“I tell you what, though, ‘it is an ill wind that blows nobody good,’—we may get a cod while Torgensen is sending his note to the mermaids; jump below and get up the lines. The rind of that ham we had for breakfast will be a dainty such as Tom Cod is not likely to meet with often in the haaf, and it will be a pleasing variety to that eternal plok fiske, if we can get one. By the way, that salt fish has got desperately hard; I saw the carpenter pounding our dinner with the back of his axe yesterday, before the cook could do anything with it.”
Whether Tom Cod would have been duly sensible of the honour that was done him, and would have accepted the line of invitation which the Captain had sent him for the next day’s dinner, it is impossible to say, for, unfortunately, he never received it. The whole bank abounded with hungry dog fish, and the bait never got a dozen fathoms over the side before it was seized by them. However, it was all fish that came to net; dog fish are not esteemed on shore, but place the diner on board ship, give him three weeks of calms and foul winds, short provisions, and those provisions principally dried fish, with a piece of salt horse for a luxury on Sunday, and even dog fish will come to be appreciated at their just value.