Читать книгу The Color of a Great City онлайн

24 страница из 66

“Whose watch is it?” asked one.

“Rierson’s, I think,” was the answer.

“He ain’t here yet.”

“Here he comes now.”

At this a hale Norwegian, clean and hard as a pine knot, came down the companionway.

“My turn to-day, eh? Are we all here?”

“Ay!” cried one.

“Then we might as well go, hey?”

“Ay! Ay!” came the chorus.

“Steward!” he called. “Tell the men to hoist sail!”

“Ay! Ay! sir!” answered the steward.

Then were rattlings and clatterings overhead. While the little company in the cabin were chatting, the work on deck was resulting in a gradual change, and when, after a half-hour, Rierson put his head out into the wind and rain above the companionway, the cotton docks were far in the rear, all but lost in the mist and drizzle. All sails were up and a stiff breeze was driving the little craft through the Narrows. McLaughlin, the boatman and master of the crew, under Rierson, was at the wheel. Already we were being rocked and tossed like a child in a cradle.

“Who controls the vessel,” I asked of him, “while the pilots are on board?”