“Vhas dot bondt all right?” he roared that his voice might carry above the shouting in the rigging and the fierce hissing of the sea.
I nodded.
“Two ton. Only tink. Dere vhas much skylarking in two ton of silver. How many dollars shall go to her?” said he.
“Dollars enough for me,” I shouted, and passed on to the compass and took a look at the brig and around me. I hated the villain; I hated his roaring voice, and his English; besides, speech soon grew difficult, even to physical pain, on that clamorous deck.
It was not much later on, however, that the crew gave me cause to think twice before throwing in my lot with them. By this time we had stretched far across the Atlantic; the month of April was drawing to an end. Much heavy weather had we encountered, but it had been of a prosperous sort, rushing us onward with hooting rigging, and reeling bands of canvas, with such a spin of the log-reel that many a time and oft three and sometimes four men were required at the great scope of line to walk it in.
On the day of the little business I am going to tell you about I went on deck and found a very fine morning. The blue sky sank crisp with mother-of-pearl-like cloud to the pale edge of the sea. The sun, that was risen about half-an-hour, shone white as silver in the east, whence blew a pleasant breeze of wind, dead on end for us, however, so that our yards lay fore and aft and the little brig under every stitch of plain sail looked away from her course.
I saw Bol to leeward gazing at the sea off the lee bow. I never addressed that man now unless there was something particular to say, and after having satisfied myself with a quarter-deck stare around and aloft, I began to walk. Bol turned his head and perceived me. He approached, and pointing his finger at the sea on the lee bow, said:
“Do you see dot ship?”
I looked and spied a sail hidden to me until this by the brig’s canvas.
“How is she standing?”