Their further stay on the island is for but a few minutes,—while the two youths make a fresh raid on the penguinnery, and rob it of another dozen of the young birds, as boat stores. Some tussac-asparagus is also added, and then all resume their places on the thwarts, this time with everything properly stowed and shipshape. The painter is drawn in and the gig shoved off.
Once more under way, they encounter a heavy ground swell; but the breeze is in their favour, and, with the sail set, they are able to keep steadily before it. They have no trouble in making their course, as the sky is clear, and Sarmiento—an all-sufficient guide-post—always visible. But although neither Captain Gancy nor Seagriff has any anxiety as to the course, both seem anxious about something, all the while scanning the water ahead—the skipper through his glass, the old sealer with hand shading his eyes.
This attracting the attention of young Gancy, sharp at reading facial expression, as are most men who follow the sea, he asks, after a time, “What is it, father? You and Chips appear to be troubled about something.”
“Wal, Mister Ed’ard, thar ain’t ennythin’ rumarkabul in thet, sitiwated ez we air; it’s only nateral to be allers expectin’ trouble o’ some sort. You youngsters don’t think o’ thet, ez we old ’uns do.”
The old sealer has made haste to answer a question not put to him. He fears that the skipper, in his solicitude as husband and father, may break down, and betray the secret that oppresses them.
Vain the attempt at concealing it longer; for the very next instant the Captain himself exclaims,—
“Ha! yonder! A boat full of people putting off from the shore!”
“Mout it be the pinnace, Capting?”
“No, Chips; it’s some sort of native craft. Look for yourself.” And he hands him the binocular.
“Yer right, sir,” says Seagriff, after a look through the glass. “A Feweegin canoe it air, an’ I do believe they’re Ailikoleeps. Ef so, we may look out for squalls.”