"The man was brought on board," proceeded Sir Joseph, "sure enough, with
a hen-coop--on which he had been found floating. The poor wretch was
blue with terror and exposure in the water; he fainted when we lifted
him on deck. When he came to himself he told us a horrible story. He was
a sick and destitute foreign seaman, and he had hidden himself in the
hold of an English vessel (bound to a port in his native country) which
had sailed from Liverpool that morning. He had been discovered, and
brought before the captain. The captain, a monster in human form, if
ever there was one yet--"
Before the next word of the sentence could pass Sir Joseph's lips,
Turlington startled the little party in the cabin by springing suddenly
to his feet.
"The breeze!" he cried; "the breeze at last!"
As he spoke, he wheeled round to the cabin door so as to turn his back
on his guests, and hailed the deck.
"Which way is the wind?"
"There is not a breath of wind, sir."
Not the slightest movement in the vessel had been perceptible in the
cabin; not a sound had been audible indicating the rising of the breeze.
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