“He’s lost his book of maps,” said Margaret to Stukeley.
“Nothing can be lost in a ship,” said Stukeley. “Besides, what’s a book of maps?”
“That book was worth a good deal. The Spaniards would pay a high price for it. With all those charts to help them, they could put down privateering when they pleased.”
“Oh, rubbish,” said Stukeley, swinging himself up the sloop’s side. “He could easy get duplicates.”
The sloop was already under sail. The men climbed aboard, and let the boat drag astern. The helm was put up a little, the fore sheet was let draw. Soon, as the boom swung over, straining the blocks, when the mainsail filled, they slipped clear the anchorage. Looking over the rail, they saw the nettings of the two ships lined with men, some of whom waved caps in farewell.
Captain Tucket came to command his sloop. He talked little; for he was trying a new dye. He was boiling a handkerchief in a pan of herbs, over a little brazier fixed on the deck. The experiment made him silent; but in moments of enthusiasm he spoke a few words, stirring the mess with a fid.
“What colour are you trying to get?” Margaret asked.
“One of them bright greens the Indians get.”
“You never will, cap,” said the helmsman. “Them Indians use moss; a kind of tree moss. I’ve seed ’em do it.”
“Well, if this don’t turn out a green, I’ll wash in it.”