“I guess thet there Gonzalo,” he remarked indignantly, “wer no sailor; an’ Mister Shakespeare must hev hed a durned pain in his stummick when he writ sich trash!”
Some hours afterwards, fortunately for Fritz’s feelings, the gale broke; when, the wind shifting round to the northward of west, the Pilot’s Bride was enabled to steer away from the South American coast and shape a straight course for Tristan d’Acunha.
Chapter Twenty.
Arrival at Tristan d’Acunha.
“This air prime, now ain’t it?” said the skipper to Fritz, as the ship, with her nose pointing almost south, was driving away before the north-west wind and making some ten knots an hour.
“Yes, she’s going along all right,” replied he; adding frankly, however, “I should like it all the better, though, if the vessel didn’t roll about so much.”
“Roll?” exclaimed Captain Brown indignantly; “call this rolling? Why, Jee-rusalem, she only gives a kinder bit of a lurch now an’ ag’in! I thought you would hev got your sea-legs on by this time.”
Fritz could only bow to this statement, of course; but, all due deference to the skipper, nevertheless, the Pilot’s Bride did roll, and roll most unmercifully, too.