He looked at me gravely; his face then relaxed. Finding his pipe out, he arose, put on his coat and cap, and said:
“I will leave you for the night. What do you fancy for your supper—what, I mean, that you, as a sailor, will suppose my brig’s larder can supply?”
I answered that a basin of broth with a glass of brandy-and-water would make me an abundant supper.
“But before you leave me,” said I, “will you tell me where my clothes are? I must hope to be transhipped to-morrow, and to step ashore with nothing on but a blanket——”
“Your clothes have been dried and are in the cabin,” said he. “When Jimmy brings your supper ask him for your clothes. And now good-night, and pleasant dreams to you, Mr. Fielding, when it shall please you to fall asleep.”
The dog sprang through the door, and I lay with my eyes fixed upon the flame of the lamp, diverting myself with inventing schemes of a voyage, one of which should fit this expedition of the Black Watch.
Early next morning I awoke after a sound, refreshing night of rest, and, dropping out of my hammock, found that I was pretty nigh as hearty as ever I had been in my life. Greatly rejoiced by this discovery, I attired myself in my clothes, which had been thoroughly dried. A razor, a brush, and one or two other conveniences were in the cabin. I was struck by Greaves’ kindness. I seemed to find in it something more than an expression of charitable attention and grateful memory. Now being dressed, and now testing myself on my legs, and finding all ship-shape aboard, from the loftiest flying pennant of hair down to the soles of my shoes, I opened the door of the berth and stood awhile looking in upon the cabin. It was a small snug sea-interior, well lighted, and breezy just now with the cordial gushing of wind down the companion-hatch. A table and a few seats comprised the furniture; those things, and a lamp, and a stand of small-arms, and some cutlasses.
While I viewed this interior I heard Greaves’ voice in a cabin on the starboard side forward.
“Not coffee, but cocoa!” on which another voice, which I recognized as the lad Jimmy’s, shouted out, to the accompaniment of the howling of a dog:
“Not coffee, but cocoa!”