During the afternoon it may be said
that Mr. Sturge's troupe had the deck aft of the forecastle to
themselves. Being unacquainted with naval usage, they roamed the
poop indifferently with the main deck, no man forbidding them, while
Captain Crang and Mr. Wapshott slumbered below; the one of set
purpose, in the hope of recapturing through the gates of horn, if not
the complete data of last night's imbroglio, at least sufficient for
a plausible defence; the other under the influence of sedatives
administered by the Doctor.
"I should soon get used to this life, d'ye know?" announced Mr.
Sturge, approaching the Major with a jaunty, almost extra-nautical
step, and clapping him, seaman fashion, on the shoulder.
It was the hour of sunset. The _Vesuvius_, bowling along merrily, a
bare three miles off Berry Head, had opened the warm red-sandstone
cliffs of Torbay; and the Major, leaning over the larboard bulwark,
gazed on the slowly moving shore in gloomy abstraction. He had been
less fortunate than Mr. Sturge in his encounter with the Captain,
whom he had interrupted in the act of retiring to slumber.
"One moment, sir," he had begun, confidently enough. "The
accomplished _artiste_ to whose representations you have been good
enough to listen, has told you--so far as he is concerned--the simple
truth. To a certain extent I can corroborate him. But I beg you to
understand that he and I--if I may employ a nautical phrase--are not
in the same boat.
Pages:
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199