Purposely I had stepped close to him as he spoke to the Captain, and the latter's reply was as astonishing to me as it apparently startled the officer. Temple was eagerness in every line of his face. He struck his right fist into the palm of his left.
"The closer the better," he exclaimed. Then he turned. "What are the soundings?" he inquired of the bow-legged man who had hastened up. (I have forgotten to state that we had been heaving the lead for the last half-hour.)
"Six fathoms, sir, and shoaling; here it is, sir."
"Prepare to lower away the long-boat, Mr. Bullard," the skipper ordered, after a glance at the lead. "Mount the forward swivel in her, pick a crew, take a boat's compass, and make off due west. Mr. Spencer, you will take command of her. A word with you."
Every one looked at the Captain in astonishment, but no one asked a question or put in a word. As I was one of the crew of the long boat, I helped to get her ready and swing her overboard. The swivel was lashed on the forward gratings, and half a dozen muskets were handed down to her, and we shoved off. Mr. Spencer was pale and nervous. As we left the brig's side we saw that her helm had been put hard down, and that she once more was headed north. There was just enough wind to move her slowly through the water. In three minutes she was lost to sight.
We had been resting on our oars, and now Mr. Spencer spoke for the first time.
"Make no noise," he said. "Pull slowly, straight ahead."
We gave way, trying our best to silence the thumping in the row-locks. So light was the breeze that we could have kept apace of a vessel's sailing. For ten minutes we rowed on, and then we stopped again, and Spencer spoke.'
"Load that swivel and get ready with those muskets," he ordered.
I heard him mutter something in which I caught the words "tomfoolery" and "nonsense," and I looked back over my shoulder. A half-dozen perplexed-looking marines were grouped in the bow, and three sailors were ramming home a charge in the swivel.