This brought us to the afternoon of what I will call the third day of the gale. I had eaten some supper, talked awhile with my lady, visited my cabin, and returned on deck after an examination of the chart, resolved on a bit more of easting before changing the course.
When I passed through the companion way I heard Bol’s voice. He and Galen stood at the bulwarks abreast of the hatch, their faces to the sea, and they conversed in Dutch, keeping their voices down and talking very earnestly. The large swell rolled quietly under the brig; the wind silenced the sails, and after the uproar of the preceding days the repose along the decks and up aloft was almost as the hush of a tropic calm upon the vessel.
I stepped to the binnacle. Teach, who was at the wheel, cleared his throat noisily and spat over the taffrail. The Dutchmen looked, and Galen, saying something sharp and quick in Dutch, walked forward. Bol glanced aloft with the air of a man in search of work for his watch; I walked a few paces his way, and he approached me.
“How vhas der vetter to be, sir?”
“The sky is high and hard, and the sun strikes clear fire into the west. Look at the edge of the sea; it sweeps clean as the rim of a new dollar. There is fine weather about.”
“Vell, so much der better, Mr. Fielding. I have slept in more comfortable fok’sles dan vhas dis of der Black Vatch vhen she pitches heavy—more comfortable, but I doan say drier. No; der toyfell shall not pe more plack dan she vhas bainted. Dis vhas a dry brick, und dere vhas no schmarter sailor out of Amsterdam.”
“I believe you.”
He looked about him to let me see he did not heed the brig the less for talking. I was willing he should talk. I saw matter in his huge full face, and guessed, if he chattered, he might let me come presently at what had passed ’twixt him and Galen.
“Mr. Fielding, how far might she be from der Horn to der Channel?”
“A long stride. Would you have it as the crow flies? How many hundreds of miles will the zigzags of a ship tag on to a straight-line measurement?”