Читать книгу The Captain from Connecticut онлайн

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Hubbard had the hands at the braces trimming the sails, and Peabody looked sharply up at the commission pennant fluttering from the maintopmast. The wind had backed noticeably, and, just as important, it was moderating.

"Set the mizzen tops'l and jib again, Mr. Hubbard," said Peabody.

"Aye aye, sir."

Hubbard stood beside his captain with his eyes on the men casting off the gaskets and a wry smile on his long face.

"We can just walk away from that old tub now, sir," he said. "It would ha' saved us a bit of trouble if the wind had made up its mind sooner."

Peabody stared at him. The dead men were lying by the spars, forward; their lives would have been saved, undoubtedly, but apart from that--Providence helps those who help themselves. Peabody's philosophy was such--illogical though he would have admitted it to be if he had happened to analyse his feelings--that to him it was the most natural thing in the world for the wind to shift and moderate after his own efforts had made the change almost unnecessary. To grumble at the whims of uncontrolled natural forces--at the dictates of Providence--was a little absurd to him, like a heathen beating his god for not responding to prayer. He was growing a little set in his ways of thought.