The skipper looked at the steersman and shook his head, muttering, ’This is the devil’s own haste.’

After a few little turns in the spacious harbour, the brig passed the headland and stood out to sea.  A fresh breeze was blowing, and the waves ran rather high.

The steersman, with a prodigious twist in his mouth, stood astride the tiller, for such a piece of devil’s trumpery as a wheel should never come on board as long as he had anything to say in the matter.

The skipper stood on the cabin stairs, with his head above the companion.  His face was of a somewhat greenish hue, and he frequently ran down into the cabin.  The old boatswain believed that he went to look at the chart, the young man thought he drank whisky, but the cabin-boy swore that he went below to vomit.

The men were in excellent spirits; it was so refreshing to breathe the sea air, and to feel the ship once again moving under their feet.  Indeed, the old brig herself seemed to be in a good humour; she dived as deep down between the seas as she could, and raised much more foam than was necessary.

The young sailors looked out for heavy seas.  ‘Here comes a whopper,’ they shouted; ‘if it would only hit us straight!’ And it did.

It was a substantial sea, larger than the others.  It approached deliberately, and seemed to lie down and take aim.  It then rose suddenly, and gave the brig, which was chubby as a cherub, such a mighty slap on the port cheek that she quivered in every timber.  And high over the railing, far in upon the deck, dashed the cold salt spray; the captain had scarcely time to duck his head below the companion.

Ah, how refreshing it was!  It exhilarated both old and young; they had not had a taste of the cold sea-water for a long time, and with one voice the whole crew broke into a lusty ‘Hurrah!’

But at this moment the steerman’s stentorian voice rang out:  ’Hard to leeward!’ The brig luffed up close to the wind, the sails flapped so violently that the rigging shook, and now followed in rapid succession, even quicker than before, orders to anchor.  ’Let fall the port anchor!  Let go the starboard one too!’

Plump—­fell the one; plump—­went the other.  The old chains rattled out, and a little red cloud of rust rose up on either side of the bowsprit.

The men, accustomed to obey, worked rapidly without thinking why, and the brig soon rode pretty quietly at her two anchors.

But now, after the work was finished, no one could conceal his astonishment at this sudden anchoring, just off the coast, among islets and skerries.  And still more extraordinary seemed the behaviour of those in command.  For they both stood right forward, with their backs to the weather, leaning over the railing and staring at the port bow.  Some had even thought they had heard the captain cry, ‘To the pumps, men,’ but this point was never cleared up.

‘What the devil can they be doing forward?’ said the rash young man.