"Oh, you are quite wild yet from your swoon; it is only the calkers stopping up the seams, one of the captain's queer whims they say; but how they are to dance to-night, those _magnificos_ I mean, without ruining their slippers with this pitch, I cannot see! Thank Goodness! I belong to a church, and am not of this party, and don't care on my own account, nor does the captain, I believe. I was placed under his care at Savannah, and I suppose it is only to stop the ball that--"
She was interrupted by the approach of the officer under discussion, but he passed us gloomily and went on to inspect the workmen so unseasonably employed, as it seemed, in a labor that, save in a case of long voyages, is always performed in port.
His melancholy air, and the preoccupation of his manner, confirmed my worst fears.
Again I sought the Ixion of the vessel, who calmly and stolidly performed his duty as if, indeed, Fate directed, without a change of feature now, or expression.
"Has the captain no hope of rescue, Mr. Garth?"
"Oh yes; he thinks we shall meet a ship or two between now and noon--we 'most always do, you know"--rolling his quid slowly, and hesitating for a while; "keep heart, keep heart! I had thought from your face you were stronger; besides, the pumps are doing good work in the hold: who knows what may come of it, who knows?"
Alas! alas! I could not rise to the level of this dim hope. "Think of the burning crowd, the sheet of flame, the terrible destruction!" I murmured; "I must go now and apprise those poor wretches below that their time is short; they have a right to know."
His vice-like hand was on my arm. "You do not go a step on such an errand," he muttered. "It is the captain's business; he will 'tend to it when the time comes, for he is a true man, and, the bravest sailor on the line. He means to do what's right, never fear. It is my dooty to hold you here until he comes, onless you promise me to be discreet."
"I shall be discreet, never fear--" and his grasp relaxed. I sped me back to the coil of rope on which I had left my young companion, intending to partake with her there my biscuit and orange, so needed now for strength.
I found in her stead (for she had departed in the interval) a delicate-looking young woman, plain and poor, a widow evidently from the style of her shabby mourning and sad expression of face, bearing in her arms a weird and sickly-looking child, evidently a sufferer from spinal disease--an infant as to size, but preternaturally old in countenance.