The Serjeant smiled, and fidgetted about, but seeing his captain waited for him to speak--"Oh, I don't know, Sir Oliver, but he has a many vagaries, and dreams dreams, Sir Oliver--and fancies he sees sights--and speaks the damnedest nonsense--beg pardon, Sir Oliver--in his sleep." The commodore laughed, and touched his forehead knowingly with his forefinger.
"Your honour has hit it," said the man, laughing.
The commodore had filled a very sufficing tumbler of grog, and handed it to the Serjeant of marines. The man _now_ unbent, stept into the cabin--wiped his mouth with the back of his large brown paw, and then, looking as sheepish as need be, seized the tumbler in his right hand--"Sir Oliver--and gentlemen all"--and swigging it off, he once more raised his hand to the brim of his chapeau--turned round on his heels, and marched out of the cabin.
About six in the evening, I returned on board the Midge, which had hove to, so soon as she noticed the frigate do so. As soon as we got on deck, and the boat was hoisted up, Lanyard desired the gunner, who had the watch, to bear up again in the wake of the commodore, for whom he was to keep a bright look out.
For a week we had beautiful weather, although the wind continued very light, so that we had almost daily communication with the frigate, and had the happiness of seeing even poor Donovan on deck again. As we widened our distance from the abominable coast, all hands seemed to improve astonishingly, so that by the seventh day after we had taken our departure, there was not a sick man in the ship.
The weather had during all this time been invariably fine, but on this Sunday evening, it had become very much overcast right a-head. Sir Oliver had in the forenoon, at Lanyard's and the youngster's own request, spared him _Mister_ Peak, the midshipman already mentioned, a very wicked little Irish rascal, but a nice boy notwithstanding. He now stood beside me on the felucca's deck.
"A very heavy bank that, sir, right a-head as we are steering," said little Joey.
"Very," said I--"but I don't think there is any wind in it, Mr Peak."
Gradually the dark clouds rose up and up, until they reached the zenith--we appeared to be entering into a gigantic black arch--under whose dark shade the frigate, about a mile on our lee bow, had already slid and become undistinguishable.