Of course he never did any work, except,
perhaps, to cast off some rope when hailed, "_He, l'Ancien!_ let go the
halyards there, at your hand"--or some such request of an easy kind.
No one took notice in any way of the chuckling within the shadow of the
hood. He kept it up for a long time with intense enjoyment. Obviously he
had preserved intact the innocence of mind which is easily amused. But
when his hilarity had exhausted itself, he made a professional remark in
a self-assertive but quavering voice:
"Can't expect much work on a night like this."
No one took it up. It was a mere truism. Nothing under canvas could be
expected to make a port on such an idle night of dreamy splendour and
spiritual stillness. We would have to glide idly to and fro, keeping our
station within the appointed bearings, and, unless a fresh breeze sprang
up with the dawn, we would land before sunrise on a small islet that,
within two miles of us, shone like a lump of frozen moonlight, to "break
a crust and take a pull at the wine bottle." I was familiar with the
procedure. The stout boat emptied of her crowd would nestle her buoyant,
capable side against the very rock--such is the perfectly smooth amenity
of the classic sea when in a gentle mood.
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