"And what come to t'other wan?" Master Hill was capable of really large human interest.
"Had 'un off, to square the spars, and for zake of vamily." He had no desire to pursue the subject, and closed it by a big squirt through the flap.
Old Hill nodded with manly approbation. Plymouth was his birthplace; and he knew that other sons of Nelson had done this; for it balanced their bodies, and composed their minds with another five shillings a week for life, and the sale of the leg covered all expenses.
"You'm a very ingenious man;" he glanced as he spoke, at the sailor's jury-rig; "I'll war'n no doctor could a' vitted 'e up, like thiccy."
"Vitted 'un myself with double swivel. Can make four knots an hour now. They doctors can undo 'e; but 'em can't do 'e up. A cove can't make sail upon a truck-head."
"And what do 'e say to the weather, Cap'n?" Master Hill enquired of his passenger, when a few more compliments had passed, and the manes of the horses began to ruffle, and the tilt to sway and rattle with the waxing storm.
"Think us shall have as big a gale of wind as ever come out of the heavens," the sailor replied, after stumping to the tail of the van, and gazing windwards; "heave to pretty smart, and make all snug afore sunset, is my advice. Too much sail on this here little craft, for such a blow as us shall have to-night."
"Can't stop short of Taunton town." Old Hill was famed for his obstinacy.
"Can 'e take in sail? Can 'e dowse this here canvas? Can 'e reef it then somehow?" The old man shook his head. "Tell 'e what then, shipmate—if 'e carry on for six hours more, this here craft will be on her beam-ends, wi'out mainsail parteth from his lashings, sure as my name is Dick Herniman."