"What's wrong, my man?"
"If you please, mister. I kinder doubt——No"—he turned away—"I ain't having any!"
"What on earth's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing 'cept you kin gimme the date as we dropped down on the tide from Gravesend, sir, to the Nore!"
"October 17th—why?"
Silas appeared to be appalled, stared forward at Bill, pulled out a corner of the paper, glanced at the date, then looked back over his shoulder, thanking the mate, and saying it didn't matter anyways.
"What doesn't matter? Silas, give me that paper!"
"Oh no, sir, not that! No! No!"
"I order you to give me that paper!"
Silas used his neckcloth to wipe the sweat from his face. Of course he knew that the man at the wheel heard everything.