“I should be glad of your company; the admiral, however, in a private note, says that he shall probably despatch the frigate in a few days, but he remarks that the brig will be of greater service, by being able to enter the rivers and harbours, which she cannot,” answered Murray.
Rogers and Adair watched the Supplejack as she glided out of the harbour under all sail to the southward before the wind, till she met the sea breeze, when, hauling her tacks aboard, she heeled over to it, and stood away to the south-west, her canvas gradually disappearing below the horizon.
Jack and Terence spent their time pleasantly enough on shore, Johnny Ferong’s store being one of their favourite places of resort, as it was of officers of all ranks. Captain Hemming had made a rule that his midshipmen, when they returned on board after leave, should send in a written statement of the places and people they had visited. He was much amused at the frequency of such entries as the following:—
“Called on J Ferong’s, Esquire;” “spent the evening at J Ferong’s, Esquire,” music and a hop sometimes added; “lunched at J Ferong’s, Esquire.” In those days Jamaica flourished, but alas! her time came, and so did that of the well-known highly-esteemed Johnny Ferong. As the island went down he ceased to flourish, and at length Kingston knew him no more, except as one of her departed worthies.
Chapter Ten.
Cruise of the Supplejack—Calms and heat—A shark caught—Exercising at the guns—A boat seen—Needham and one of the missing midshipmen found, nearly dying from thirst—They bring alarming information.
The Supplejack was making the best of her way across the Caribbean sea. Murray, or one of his subordinates, Higson, or Jos Green usually so called, the second master of the corvette, was ever on deck, with watchful eyes on the bending topmasts, carrying on as much sail as the brig could bear. Gallantly she slashed through the blue, heaving seas, a mass of white foam rising up round her bows, and sheets of sparkling spray flying over her forecastle. A bright look-out was kept on every side, not in the expectation of meeting either with a slaver or pirate; but the young commander could not help secretly hoping that he might fall in with the Sarah Jane, and be relieved of his chief cause of anxiety. His patience, however, on several occasions was sorely tried when the wind fell light. One day, too, a perfect calm came on, and the brig lay, her sides lapping the glassy sea, as she rolled in the slowly-heaving, sluggish swell, and her sails flapped lazily against the masts. In vain old Higson whistled for a wind till his cheeks were ready to crack; not that he really believed the proceeding would produce a breeze, or that he had any notion of the origin of the custom; but he had always done so when there was a calm; and he wanted a wind, and the wind, if he whistled long enough, always came. The heat was oppressive, as it always is under such circumstances in those latitudes; the spirits of all fell, except those of Jos Green, who was ever merry, blow high or blow low, in sunshine or cold. The grumblers grumbled, of course, but in lower tones than usual, like the mutterings of distant thunder; the phlegmatic became more supine; the quarrelsome had not the energy to dispute; the talkative were silent; and even Pat Blathermouth, who could usually spin a yarn which lasted from the beginning to eight bells in a watch, and then wasn’t half finished, could scarcely drawl out an oft-told tale, which was wont to make his hearers burst their sides with laughter, but now only sent them to sleep.
“Of course it’s hot,” answered jolly Jos to a remark of Higson’s. “What else would you have it here in the tropics, with the bright sun striking down from the cloudless sky? It has its advantages, and it is better than cold, and saves one the trouble of putting on more clothing than decency requires.”