Then his passion appeared to have burnt itself
out. Turning suddenly to the melancholy mate, he said roughly:
"Go and heave your lead, then, and be hanged to it."
Mr. Toley walked away aft and ordered one of the men to heave the
deep-sea lead. The plummet, shaped like the frustum of a cone, and
weighing thirty pounds, was thrown out from the side in the line of the
vessel's drift.
"By the mark sixty, less five," sang out the man when the lead touched
the bottom.
"I guess that'll do," said the first mate, returning to the quarterdeck.
"Well, what about your notion?" said the captain scornfully. But he
listened quietly and with an intent look upon his weatherbeaten face as
Mr. Toley explained.
"You see, sir," he said, "while you was talking just now, I sort o' saw
that if they attack us, 'twon't be for at least two hours after dark. The
boats won't put off while there's light enough to see 'em; and won't
hurry anyhow, 'cos if they did the men 'ud have nary much strength left
to 'em. Well, they'll take our bearings, of course. Thinks I, owing to
what you said, sir, what if we could shift 'em by half a mile or so? The
boats 'ud miss us in the darkness."
"That's so," ejaculated the captain; "and what then?"
"Well, sir, 'tis there my idea of taking soundings comes in. The Good
Intent can't be towed, not with our handful of men; but why shouldn't she
be kedged? That's the notion, sir; and I guess you'll think it over."
"By jimmy, Toley, you en't come out o' Salem, Massachusetts, for nothing.
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