“'T would be too great—it is an honour reserved for Mrs. Wallingford, you know.”
This was smilingly said, I fancied sweetly and kindly, and yet it was said not altogether without something that approached to an équivoque; a sort of manner that the deep, natural feeling of Grace, and needle-like truth of Lucy had rendered unpleasant to me. I took the necklace, shook the young lady's hand for good-night—we always did that, on meeting and parting for the day—paid my compliments to the father, and withdrew.
I was dressing next morning, when Neb came bolting into my state-room, with his Clawbonny freedom of manner, his eyes looking lobsters, and his necklace of pearl, glittering between a pair of lips that might have furnished a cannibal two famous steaks. As soon as fairly established in command, I had brought the fellow aft, berthing him in the steerage, in order to have the benefit of more of his personal service than I could obtain while he was exclusively a foremast Jack. Still, he kept his watch; for it would have been cruel to deprive, him of that pleasure.
“Oh! Masser Mile!” exclaimed the black, as soon as he could speak; “'e boat!—'e boat!”
“What of the boat?—Is any one overboard?”
“'E whale-boat, sir!—Poor Captain Marble—'e whale-boat, sir!”
“I understand you, Neb—go on deck, and desire the officer of the watch to heave-to the ship, as soon as it is proper; I will come up, the instant I can.”
Here, then, I thought, Providence has brought us on the track of the unfortunate whale-boat; and we shall doubtless see the mutilated remains of some of our old companions—poor Marble, doubtless, from what Neb said—well, the will of God be done. I was soon dressed; and, as I went up the cabin-ladder, the movement on deck denoted the nature of the excitement that now prevailed generally, in the ship. Just as I reached the quarter-deck, the main-yard swung round, and the sails were brought aback. The whole crew was in commotion, and it was some little time before I could learn the cause.
The morning was misty, and the view round the ship, until within a few minutes, had been confined to a circle of less than a mile in diameter. As the sun rose, however, the mist broke away gradually, and then the watch caught a view of the whale-boat mentioned by Neb. Instead of being floating about on the ocean, with the remains of its unfortunate crew lying in its bottom, as I had expected to see it, when I caught the first glimpse of the unlooked-for object, it was not a mile distant, pulling briskly for us, and containing not only a full, but a strong and an animated crew.
Just at that instant, some one cried out “Sail-ho!” and sure enough, a ship was seen some four or five miles to leeward, a whaler evidently, turning to windward, under easy canvass, in order to rejoin her boat, from which she had lately been separated by the night and the fog. This, then, was no more than a whaler and her boat; and, on sweeping the horizon with a glass, Talcott soon discovered, a mile to windward of the boat, a dead whale, with another boat lying by it, in waiting for the approach of the ship, which promised to fetch as far to windward, on its next tack.