“Well, shipmate,” whispered Ratlins, as they sat down, each with his tin-dipper of coffee, his allowance of duff and ship’s biscuit, “how many knots is she making this morning? The breeze has gone down a little, hasn’t it, by daylight?”
“No, it hasn’t,” said Jake; “and remember you gave me your hand on it, last night, to stand by.”
“So I did,” said Ratlins, “and my two hours on the dog-watch this morning has given me more of a relish for it; but still—”
“No hanging fire,” said Jake. “Ned and Jim, where are you? If you’re bound another way, I can cruise alone, and if I go down, it wont be without carrying some one else with me.”
“Who said you were to cruise alone?” said the growling sailor, breaking a biscuit on his knee; “I guess we can fix something before to-night,” and the whispering grew lower and thicker, until even Jake seemed satisfied.
When seven bells struck that noon, Carter came on deck, and seemed to be loafing about for the half-hour before his watch came on, but in the course of it he managed to come across the second mate, where a few words could pass between them unobserved.
“Look here, Penfield,” he said, “I want to make a little change in the watch if it’s all the same to you. That long-limbed fellow there, Jake, I’ve taken a notion to try my hand on him, and I’ve got a fellow among mine that don’t work in so well with the rest. I’ll let you try what you can make of him, and you turn Jake over to me.”
The mate stared; a queer sort of proceeding, he thought, and wouldn’t be called ship-shape on some vessels, but he knew Carter owned in the Cumbermede, and he supposed he could do as he liked.
“Taken a notion to Jake,” he said, suppressing the oath that rose to his lips, out of respect to his superior officer, “I should as soon think of taking a notion to one of the imps below. You’re welcome to him if you want him; I’m sure I don’t care if he goes to the bottom. A miserable dog, for ever under foot, and taking more swearing to get a little duty out of him, than any three men on board.”