“These circumstances are all over, Mr. Jeorling,” exclaimed Hurliguerly, “and I fear indeed—”
“What—you also, boatswain—you whom I believed to be so confident!”
“Confidence, Mr. Jeorling, wears out like the ends of one’s trousers. What would you have me do? When I compare my lot to old Atkins, installed in his cosy inn; when I think of the Green Cormorant, of the big parlours downstairs with the little tables round which friends sip whisky and gin, discussing the news of the day, while the stove makes more noise than the weathercock on the roof—oh, then the comparison is not in our favour, and in my opinion Mr. Atkins enjoys life better than I do.”
“You shall see them all again, boatswain—Atkins, the Green Cormorant, and Kerguelen! For God’s sake do not let yourself grow downhearted! And if you, a sensible and courageous man, despair already—”
“Oh, if I were the only one it would not be half so bad as it is!”
“The whole crew does not despair, surely?”
“Yes—and no,” replied Hurliguerly, “for I know some who are not at all satisfied!”
“Has Hearne begun his mischief again? Is he exciting his companions?”
“Not openly at least, Mr. Jeorling, and since I have kept him under my eye I have neither seen nor heard anything. Besides, he knows what awaits him if he budges. I believe I am not mistaken, the sly dog has changed his tactics. But what does not astonish me in him, astonishes me in Martin Holt.”
“What do you mean, boatswain?”