“Do you make out any thing, Speers, darlint?” asked the captain.
“Nothing at all,” replied Tom. “In my opinion we have seen the last we shall of the schooners till we get to Funchal.”
“Don’t say that, Tom: I would rather lose my command than part company with the rest of the fleet.”
“I don’t see why you need mourn about the matter. We know where we are bound, and we can get there without any help from the schooners,” added Tom.
“If we lose them they will say we did it on purpose.”
“They can’t say that; for our log will show just how it happened, after we compare it with those of the other vessels.”
The young captain was very impatient; and, after waiting half an hour, he ordered the officer of the watch to heave the log again. It was done, and the report was only seven knots.
“Faix, it seemed to me she was going at a snail’s pace,” said O’Hara, now thoroughly roused by the tardy movement of the vessel.
“I don’t understand it,” added Tom.
At this moment one of the crew who had been detailed to act as an oiler, because he had a taste for working on machinery, came upon the upper deck.