"Grimalson, staring--as we all stared--over the blank sea, vomited
the natural man within him in some fourteen or fifteen words for
which he was never forgiven by any of us.
"'Gone, by Gosh! And that bloody old fool was teaching _me_ to
handle a boat!'
"All heard it. Not a soul spoke. I glanced at Jarvis in time to
catch the twitch of his mouth--one of those twitches I used to study
in angry dogs, and snapshot and measure: but he continued to gaze
across the waters. After half a minute or so he glanced at me,
looked seaward again, and observed quietly, 'It don't seem probable
they would run mast-down in the time. And yet I don't know: 'twas
blowing powerful fresh just after midnight. Hull-down, a boat might
easily be; and supposing sail lowered, what's a boat's mast better to
pick up than a needle in a bottle o' hay?--let be they might be
dismasted. There was weather enough. And No. 1 carried a bamboo--
which is never to be trusted, if you ask _me_.'
"'Who the devil's asking you?' demanded Grimalson.
"'Nobody, sir,' the seaman answered, respectfully, but without
turning his head.
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