I looked at him.
‘The noose,’ said he, ‘came forrads afore I lay aft for this here trick that the ship you came out of and lost sight of was the Countess Ida.’
‘That is so,’ I exclaimed.
‘Might I make so bold,’ he continued, slightly moving the wheel, and bringing his specks of eyes into a squint over my head as he sent a glance at the tiny skysail pulling under the main-truck, ‘as to inquire if so be that the bo’sun of that ship was a man named Smallridge?’
‘Yes, Smallridge; that was the boatswain’s name,’ I replied, warming up to the mere reference to that hearty sailor.
‘Well,’ said he, ‘I heerd that he was agoing bo’sun in that ship, and I was pretty nigh signing for her myself, only that her date of sailing didn’t give me quite long enough ashore. And how is Mr. Smallridge, sir?’
‘Very well indeed,’ said I.
‘I’ve got a perticler respect for Mr. Smallridge,’ he continued; ‘he kep’ company with my sister for some time, and would ha’ married her, but she tailed on to a sojer whilst he was away, prefarring the lobster to the shellback, sir. Well, I’m glad to larn that he’s hearty, I’m sure. If so be as we should fall in with the Countess Ida, and put you aboard without my seeing of Mr. Smallridge, I’d take it werry kind, sir, if you’d give him Joe Wetherly’s respects.’
‘I certainly will,’ said I with alacrity; ‘but I fear there is little chance of our meeting with the Indiaman.’
‘Well, there’s no telling,’ he exclaimed; ‘but she’ll have to be right in this here barque’s road, supposing her to be ahead; and if we should pass her in the dark, why, then, good-night! for she’s like grease in the water is this here Lady Blanche.’