Now, up to this moment, Saunders knew no more, than those
who had just been questioning him of the particular situation of the ship,
in which he floated as indifferent to the whereabouts and the winds, as
men sail in the earth along its orbit, without bethinking them of
parallaxes, nodes, ecliptics, and solstices. Aware that it was about time
for the captain to be heard, he sent a subordinate on deck, with a view to
be ready to meet the usual questions from his commander. A couple of
minutes were sufficient to put him _au courant_ of the real state of
things. The next door that opened was that of Paul Blunt, however, who
thrust his head into the cabin, with all his dark curls in the confusion
of a night scene.
"Steward!"
"Sir.
"How's the wind?"
"Quite exhilarating, sir."
"From what quarter?"
"About south, sir"
"Is there much of it?"
"A prewailing breeze, sir."
"And the sloop?"
"She's to leeward, sir, operating along as fast as she can."
"Steward!"
"Sir," stepping hurriedly out of his pantry, in order to hear more
distinctly.
"Under what sail are we?"
"Topgallant sails, sir."
"How's her head?"
"West-south-west, sir."
"Delicious! Any news of the rover?"
"Hull down to leeward, sir, and on our quarter.
"Staggering along, eh?"
"Quite like a disguised person, sir.
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