“Poole and I are going into the foretop to view the equator. It should be in sight now from that height, for I heard the chief mate tell Mrs. Moore that if this air held we should be crossing it about half-past eleven. Will you come along with us, Rockafellar?”
“Yes,” said I; “I should like to see the equator. It will be something to talk about when I get home.”
We went forward and got into the fore-shrouds on the lee-side, that our going aloft might not be noticed from the poop. When we were in the top, Poole steadied the glass against the topmast rigging, and instantly cried out “Beautiful!”
“Is it in sight?” I exclaimed eagerly.
“Oh, lovely! oh, divine!” he said in a voice of rapture, with his eye glued to the glass. “Kennet, my dear, come and take a look.”
He held the glass, and Kennet peered.
“Ha!” shouted the long-nosed youth, drinking in a deep breath: “a noble picture, by George! I wonder if the captain would let ’uth go athore upon it? Wouldn’t a ride on a camel be jolly along that ththrait road.”
They were as grave as a pair of judges, saving the rapture which they endeavoured to express with their countenances.
“I say, Poole, let’s have a look!” said I, thirsting with curiosity.
“Make way for him, Kennet,” cried Poole.