Читать книгу The Captain from Connecticut онлайн

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A knocking at the cabin door heralded the admission of Quincy, out of breath with hurrying.

"A message from Mr. Hubbard, sir," he panted. "Cutter in sight, and bearing up for us."

"My compliments to Mr. Hubbard, and I'll come on deck."

Peabody turned to his guests.

"I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I hope you will excuse me for a moment."

They rose in reply--it was a continual mild surprise to Peabody that the conventional manners which he found it so hard to employ always worked so well.

Peabody ran up on deck; Hubbard was looking through his glass at the jaunty cutter which was running towards them--a typical island boat with patched brown sails.

"Heave to, Mr. Hubbard, if you please."

The cutter was bowling along briskly under a light air which had hardly been moving the Delaware, but then the latter had had no more than topsails set. The cutter, as Peabody saw through the glass, had a coloured hand in the bows and two more in the waist; aft, at the tiller, there sat a man in dazzling white clothes. He put up his tiller, and the cutter came neatly into the wind and took in her head sail; a moment later, the dinghy, which had been towing astern, came sculling briskly across the glittering water with the white-clad man in the stern sheets, and a half-naked negro at the sculls. Peabody met the visitor as he came dexterously up the side.