Mr. Leach hailed the boats, and ordered them to send their gang of
labourers on shore. He then gave the accustomed raps on the deck, and
called "all hands" in the ship. In a minute the men began to appear,
yawning and stretching their arms--for no one had thrown aside his
clothes--most of them launching their sea-jokes right and left, with as
much indifference as if they lay quietly in the port to which they were
bound. After some eight or ten minutes to shake themselves, and to get
"aired," as Mr. Leach expressed it, the whole party was again mustered on
the deck of the Dane, with the exception of a hand or two in the launch,
and Mr. Dodge. The latter had assumed the office of sentinel over the
jolly-boat, which, as usual, lay at the rocks, to carry such articles off
as might be wanted.

"Send a hand up into the fore-top, Mr. Leach," said the captain, gaping
like a greyhound; "a fellow with sharp eyes; none of your chaps who read
with their noses down in the cloudy weather of an almanack; and let him
take a look at the desert, in search of Arabs."

Although the lower rigging was down and safe in the launch, a girt-line,
or as Captain Truck in the true Doric of his profession pronounced it, a
"_gunt_-line," was rove at each mast, and a man was accordingly hauled up
forward as soon as possible. As it was still too dusky to distinguish far
with accuracy, the captain hailed him, and bade him stay where he was
until ordered down, and to keep a sharp look-out.

"We had a visit from one chap in the night," he added, "and as he was a
hungry-looking rascal, he is a greater fool than I think him, or he will
be back before long, after some of the beef and stock-fish of the wreck.
Keep a bright look-out."