Then the engines took
their turn, and the yacht exchanged the steady roll of a topsail
schooner for the quivering uneasiness of a steam-driven ship. But sail
or steam, the pace was slow, and the passage of the Red Sea left its
record on the smart little vessel in the shape of blistered paint,
gaping seams, and planks from which the sweated pitch was no sooner
holy-stoned than it oozed forth again to smear their purity. Though
stout awnings defied the direct fury of the sun they could not shut out
its glare and furnace heat. And the human barometer showed the stress
of life. Stump was a caldron in himself, Tagg a bewhiskered malediction
in damp linen. The temper of the crew, stifling in crowded quarters,
suggested--that they were suffering from a plague of bolls. As a mere
pastime, there was an occasional fight in the forecastle. Unhappily for
the disputants, Stump had a ready ear for these frays, and he would
rush in to settle them with a vigor that left the pugilists prostrate.
Then he would recover his caustic humor for half an hour, and regale
Royson with yarns of things wot happened when the Bed Sea was reelly
hot.
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