The youth looked up at the clock in the skylight, and answered instantly:
“At one bell, master,” meaning half-past eight.
“What did he have?”
“A trayful, master,” and I noticed that the boy talked with his eyes fixed on Galloon, while the dog looked up at him as though ready to howl presently.
“But what did he have?”
“He had coffee, mutton chops, sights of biscuits, a tin of preserved pork, more biscuit, master, ay, and fried bacon—twice he sent me to the galley for fried bacon, and he was eating from one bell till hard upon fower.”
“There are no mutton chops on board this ship,” said Greaves, “and as to tins of preserved pork—but you will guess,” said he, looking at me, “that the hog’s trough was liberally brimmed; and still the beast grunts. Listen!”
Van Laar was now singing again. Presently he ceased and talked loudly to himself. He then fell silent; but by this time Greaves and I had dined and we went on deck.
The brig, that had seemingly shifted her course, as though to stand across our hawse, was lying hove-to off the weather bow. There was a color at the peak. I brought the glass to bear and made out the English ensign, union down. She had a very weedy and worn look as she lay rolling and pitching somewhat heavily upon the light swell. Her sails beat the masts with dislocating thumps, and in imagination I could hear the twang of her rigging to the buckling of her spars. She was timber laden; the timber rose above her rails.
“What on earth is she towing?” exclaimed Greaves, looking at her through the glass.