“Are we gaining on the chase, Mr Hanks, think you?” sung out my uncle at this moment.
“A little, sir; but the sky has got so much clearer thereaway in the last half-hour, that perhaps she only appears nearer,” was the answer; and then Hanks went aft, to walk the quarter-deck with his Commander.
There is off Portland Bill a race, or overfall of water, caused by a shallow and rocky bottom, where the sea at times breaks so violently that vessels have been known to be swamped, and to go down amid the turmoil, with scarcely a possibility of any of the hapless crew escaping. During south-westerly gales, and with an ebb tide, the race runs the highest; but sometimes, even in moderate weather, without any apparent cause, there is a strange chopping and leaping of the sea, which makes it dangerous for a small vessel to pass through. The faint outline of the well-known headland was now seen on our larboard bow, and it was pretty evident that the lugger was getting her starboard tacks aboard, to haul off round the outside of the race, if not to stand away towards the French coast. We, accordingly, had to alter our course after her; but I suspected that there was no very great chance of our being able to overtake her. Still we stood on, our main hope being that another cruiser might fall in with her, and turn her again towards us. After the fog had disappeared, the sky overhead became beautifully clear; but, as the day drew on, clouds began to gather, and by the time I went down to dinner they were coming up pretty thick from the south-west and south, rather an unusual circumstance after the sort of morning we had had. While we were discussing our meal, the cutter heeled over, and nearly sent our scanty dinner-service away to leeward.
“Hillo, what’s the matter now?” I asked.
“Matter! why the breeze is freshening, to be sure,” said old Growl, our acting master. “Look out for your plates, and when you go on deck it will be time enough to learn all about it.”
Old Growl was in many respects not dissimilar to Hanks. He was of the same age, if not older; as fond of spirits, if not fonder; and as addicted, indeed I think more so, to grumbling. He was not a gentleman by birth, education, or manners; but he was kind of heart, and I liked him very well. I think I remarked that all the officers were very old for their standing. Growl’s hair was white, and so was Scriven’s, the clerk in charge. I was young enough to be the son of any of them, in fact, and was treated almost as such. Fortunately, my uncle did his best to throw responsibility on my shoulders, so that, in spite of the pains they took to spoil me, I gradually learned to think and act for myself. Dinner was over, for the best of reasons—that we had eaten up all our boiled beef and potatoes, and the greater portion of our last cheese, and I was thinking how much pleasanter it was to be sitting there quietly, and nibbling biscuit and sipping my glass of grog, than standing up to be shot at, as I had to do all the morning, when Hanks, whose watch it had been on deck, came below. His eye immediately fell on my tumbler of grog, which was, I own, stiffer than usual; and without saying a word, he emptied half the contents into another, and drinking them off, filled my glass with water. I dared not remonstrate, for I had been transgressing his orders in taking more than the quantity he allowed me.
“Neil, my child,” he used to say, “drink is a bad thing; and it grows upon a fellow. If you were to take your full allowance now, by the time you grow up you would be a drunkard, so for your sake I shall swallow your grog; besides, you know, what is bad for a little chap like you, is good for an old worn-out follow like me, who wants something to keep his soul alive in his body.”
I did not exactly understand his reasoning; but as, notwithstanding his peculiarities, I was fond of my old messmate, I was well content to yield him up part of my allowance, for the sake of keeping him alive.
“Well, Hanks, are we gaining on the chase?” I asked.
“No, boy; but our ill-luck has gained upon us,” he replied. “The wind has taken it into its head to veer round to the south-west, and given the rascally lugger an advantage she doesn’t deserve. Boy, bring me dinner.”