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CHAPTER VI THE RUSE THAT FAILED,Came a fine, glittering morning towards the middle of June. It was about half an hour after daybreak: the sun had risen, and the flood of brilliance lay broad upon the sea in the east. Captain Acton was dressing in his cabin, when his door was rapped upon, and Captain Weaver, whose manner was full of excitement, reported a sail in sight, right in the centre of the horizon betwixt the two ships.,Maurice sank weakly down against a tree trunk, and groaned.,"Send the people about and make enquiries," answered Captain Acton. "She is making calls. It is the Minorca that has disappeared.","Take meself," he went on, drawing his stool closer to the chairs of his young friends. "All me life have I dhrunk more er less av the cup that cheers; but I'm through now, byes, not so much either because ut's a fit av the blue divils the stuff give me but because I mane from now on to quaff the swate draft of Nature widout a bad taste in me mouth. I'm through wid whisky feriver, and ut's Harry O'Dule, siventh son av a siventh son, so declares himself this day. Ut's out into God's blissid sunlight have I come afther bein' held prisoner by a deadlier disease than measles, me byes.","I am extremely anxious to relieve you of the burden of maintaining me, and my fixed intention, if I can procure nothing to do between this and next month, is to work my passage out before the mast to the United States. If it should come to the backwoods, I am ready. I confess this life grows [Pg 56]insupportable, and the more burthensome to me because it is a tax upon you, sir.",The Admiral sat at table before a meal that betokened total neglect on his part of all thought of digestion. The dinner in short, so far as it had been served, consisted of a round of boiled beef, carrots and turnips, and a dish of potatoes smoking in their jackets, a stout loaf of black crust, a dish of fine yellow butter, and at Sir William's elbow was a silver mug with a thick glass bottom, just filled foaming to the brim from a cask of the very best ale at that time brewed in England, and in those days a glass of fine ale was a more delicious draught, more thirst-quenching, more appealing to all the secret feelings of the interior than the finest liquor that has been drunk since, call it what you will.,Frank nodded. "A beam struck me," he whispered, "I thought—I thought—",Billy took the Indian turnip from his chum and with his knife scraped off a portion of white, pungent pulp. "Now then, put this on the back of your tongue, an' leave it there," he directed.,"Then tell me if you see her," and the Admiral watched him with such an expression of face as he might have looked with at a falling barometer in seas distinguished for cyclones and typhoons.,"Bill, watch out!" warned Maurice. "There's a big womper coiled on that lily-root. You're makin' right fer it.","What can be the meaning of it?" said Captain Acton..