CHAPTER XXVI. THE OSTEND PACKET It was a wild, stormy night, with fast-flying clouds above, and a heavy rolling sea below, as the “Osprey” steamed away for Ostend, her closed hatchways and tarpaulined sailors, as well as her sea-washed deck and dripping cordage, telling there was “dirty weather outside.” Though the waves broke over the vessel as she lay at anchor, and the short distance between the shore and her gangway had to be effected at peril of life, the captain had his mail, and was decided on sailing. There were but three passengers: two went aboard with the captain; the third was already on deck when they arrived, and leisurely paraded up and down with his cigar, stopping occasionally to look at the lights on shore, or cast a glance towards the wild chaos of waves that raged without. “Safe now, I suppose, Grog?” muttered Beecher, as the vessel, loosed from her last mooring, turned head to sea out of the harbor. “I rather suspect you are,” said Davis, as he struck a light for his cigar. “Few fellows would like to swim out here with a judge's warrant in his mouth such a night as this.” “I don't like it overmuch myself,” said Beecher; “there's a tremendous sea out there, and she's only a cockleshell after all.” “A very tidy one, sir, in a sea, I promise you,” said the Captain, overhearing, while with his trumpet he bellowed forth some directions to the sailors. “You've no other passengers than ourselves, have you?” asked Beecher. “Only that gentleman yonder,” whispered the Captain, pointing towards the stranger. “Few, I take it, fancy coming out in such weather,” said Beecher. “Very few, sir, if they have n't uncommonly strong reasons for crossing the water,” replied the Captain. “I think he had you there!” growled Grog in his ear. “Don't you go poking nonsense at fellows like that. Shut up, I tell you! shut up!” “I begin to feel it deuced cold here,” said Beecher, shuddering. “Come down below, then, and have something hot. I 'll make a brew and turn in,” said Davis, as he moved towards the ladder. “Come along.” “No, I must keep the deck, no matter how cold it is. I suffer dreadfully when I go below. Send me up a tumbler of rum-and-water, Davis, as hot as may be.” “You 'd better take your friend's advice, sir,” said the Captain. “It will be dirty weather out there, and you 'll be snugger under cover.” Beecher, however, declined; and the Captain, crossing the deck, repeated the same counsel to the other passenger. “No, I thank you,” said he, gayly; “but if one of your men could spare me a cloak or a cape, I 'd be much obliged, for I am somewhat ill-provided against wet weather.” “I can let you have a rug, with pleasure,” said Beecher, overhearing the request; while he drew from a recess beneath the binnacle one of those serviceable aids to modern travel in the shape of a strong woollen blanket.