The snores stopped. “Ay, ay!” said a sleepy voice. “What’s the matter, master?”
“Matter!” repeated the other, choking violently. “Ain’t you going to sail to-night?”
“To-night!” said another voice, in surprise. “Why, I thought we wasn’t going to sail till Wen’sday.”
Not trusting himself to reply, so careful was he of the morals of his men, the skipper went and leaned over the side and communed with the silent water. In an incredibly short space of time five or six dusky figures pattered up on to the deck, and a minute or two later the harsh clank of the windlass echoed far and wide.
The captain took the wheel. A fat and very sleepy seaman put up the side-lights, and the little schooner, detaching itself by the aid of boat-hooks and fenders from the neighbouring craft, moved slowly down with the tide. The men, in response to the captain’s fervent orders, climbed aloft, and sail after sail was spread to the gentle breeze.
“Hi! you there,” cried the captain to one of the men who stood near him, coiling up some loose line.
“Sir?” said the man.
“Where is the mate?” inquired the captain.
“Man with red whiskers and pimply nose?” said the man interrogatively.
“That’s him to a hair,” answered the other.