The song and the laugh rose frequently from the forecastle, where the crew
were occupied with their Saturday night; and occasionally a rude sentiment
in the way of a toast was heard. But weariness soon got the better of
merriment forward, and the hard-worked mariners, who had the watch below,
soon went down to their berths, leaving those whose duty it was to remain
to doze away the long hours in such places as they could find on deck.
"A white squall," said Captain Truck, looking up at the uncouth sails that
hardly impelled the vessel a mile in the hour through the water, "would
soon furl all our canvas for us, and we are in the very place for such an
interlude."
"And what would then become of us?" asked Mademoiselle Viefville quickly.
"You had better ask what would become of that apology for a topsail,
mam'selle, and yonder stun'sail, which looks like an American in London
without straps to his pantaloons. The canvas would play kite, and we
should be left to renew our inventions. A ship could scarcely be in better
plight than we are at this moment, to meet with one of these African
flurries."
"In which case, captain," observed Mr. Monday, who stood by the skylight
watching the preparations below, "we can go to our Saturday-night without
fear; for I see the steward has everything ready, and the punch looks very
inviting, to say nothing of the champaigne.
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