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I can see the captain's whisker all gilt at the edges! We took 'ee for the Bournemouth steamer. Three cheers for the real man-o'-war!" That cry came from under the Devolution's stern. Pyecroft held something in his teeth, for I heard him mumble, "Our Mister Moorshed!" Said a boy's voice above us, just as we dodged a jet of hot water from some valve: "I don't half like that cheer.
We oughtn't to be expected to climb up a ship we've sunk." Pyecroft lay on his disreputable oars till Captain Malan, full-uniformed, descended the Devolution's side. With due compliments not acknowledged, I grieve to say we fell in behind his sumptuous galley, and at last, upon pressing invitation, climbed, black as sweeps all, the lowered gangway of the Cryptic.
"I was all night putting these little ear-marks on you for the umpires to sit on. Leave 'em alone." We splashed past him to the Devolution's boat, where sat no one less than her first lieutenant, a singularly unhandy-looking officer. "What the deuce is the meaning of this?" he roared, with an accusing forefinger. "You're sunk, that's all. You've been dead half a tide."
The Agathites are not, as you might say, an' yet they can't live with 'im. It's the discipline that does it. 'Ark to the bald an' unconvincin' watch-officer chimin' in. I wonder where Mr. Moorshed has got to?" We drifted down the Devolution's side, as we had drifted down her sister's; and we dealt with her in that dense gloom as we had dealt with her sister. "Whai! 'Tis a man-o'-war, after all!
I'd ha' given a year's pay for ten minutes o' your signallin' work this mornin'." "I wouldn't 'ave took it up," was the answer. "Perishin' 'Eavens above! Look at the Devolution's semaphore!" Two black wooden arms waved from the junior ship's upper bridge. "They've seen it."
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