"Monsieur Vattel did die for the honour of his art. He fell on
his own sword, because the fish did not arrive in season for the dinner of
the king."
Captain Truck looked more astonished than ever. Then turning short round
to the steward, he shook his head and exclaimed,
"Do you hear that, sir? How often would you have died, if a sword had been
run through you every time the fish was forgotten, or was too late'? Once,
to a dead certainty, about these very tongues and sounds."
"But the weather?" interrupted Mr. Sharp.
"The weather, my dear sir; the weather, my dear ladies, is very good
weather, with the exception of winds and waves, of which unfortunately
there are, just now, more of both than we want. The ship must scud, and as
we go like a race-horse, without stopping to take breath, we may see the
Canary Islands before the voyage is over. Of danger there is none in this
ship, as long as we can keep clear of the land, and in order that this may
be done, I will just step into my state-room, and find out exactly
where we are."
On receiving this information, the passengers retired for the night,
Captain Truck setting about his task in good earnest. The result of his
calculations showed that they would run westward of Madeira, which was all
he cared about immediately, intending always to haul up to his course on
the first good occasion.
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