"You need sleep," he said to Anthony. "You cannot work the vessel yourself, with a single man. Get a message to the brig; have them send two hands aboard of us."
Anthony frowned.
"I have no liking for that ship, as you know," he said. "And I'd rather keep her people from my deck."
"Is it not time to put our dislikes aside?" said the captain. "Should we not think of the ship, and what getting her home means? Have we any fear of two foremast men, no matter what vessel they come out of?"
Mademoiselle was at the wheel when Anthony came heavily on deck. The ocean was heaving in long, smooth swells, green and wonderful. A signal was made to the brig, and the two vessels bore toward each other. It was Blake whom Anthony spoke to; and when he asked for the men the pirate laughed cheerfully and agreed. He came with the boat, his big body laid against the tiller-handle; and it was he who caught the rope flung by Anthony and made it fast; and the two men, able-looking fellows and active, came nimbly over the side.
"Good fortune," said Blake, as he cast loose, and made away again. "Your mast still stands, and you've seen the worst weather you're like to see. With this wind we look to convoying you to your dock in less than ten days' time."
Anthony pointed the ship to the northwest; as level as a gull's flight, the blunted bowsprit held to Henlopen. Then he gave the wheel to one of the new hands and pointed to the compass.
"Hold her so," he said.
Captain Weir asked to be brought upon deck; he lay on a mattress under the stump of the mainmast, his leg straight and stiff and dead-looking; and ready to his hand lay a pair of loaded pistols.
"Now," said he to Anthony, "you may get some rest, all of you. I keep watch on deck until you've slept the clock at least half around."