‘Hang me,’ he cried, ‘if that dress don’t bring Stepney close aboard! It is but a step to the Tower, surely! And when my trick’s up we’ll go a-rambling Epping way.’ Tom and the mate were at work at the pump. Tom kissed his hand and the mate lifted his cap. A few minutes later the water ceased to flow. ‘A tight little ship!’ cried Tom; and he and Mr. Bates came to me. ‘D’ye remember her now, Bates?’ said my sweetheart, looking at me proudly and with love. ‘Yes. And to think that I should have bullied you on the poop, Miss Johnstone, when your cousin brought you to ask me for a bed! I beg your pardon now,’ said the worthy fellow, and he slowly bowed low. ‘Marian,’ said Tom, ‘I wished you to rest; but you look so brisk I’ll allow you to keep awake for another hour. Hold this little wheel and keep the brig’s head just as it is. There’s much for the three of us to do, and, chiefest of all, there’s breakfast to get.’ I took the wheel and they went to work, and first they got the quarter-boat’s sail out of her and stretched it over my head as a shelter from the sun. This done, they hoisted the quarter-boat. Will found the carpenter’s chest, split up some wood, went into the fore-peak for coal and lighted the galley fire. Whilst this was doing Tom and Bates searched the brig and found her stock of fresh water in a considerable quantity just under the main-hatch. They explored the forecastle, but met with nothing to tell them whether the story on the cabin table was true or not. The sailors had left their blankets, but taken their traps. They were British sailors, and the weight of their clothes was not very likely to imperil the safety of the boat. The morning was brilliantly beautiful; the breeze almost astern, the swell on the quarter, and the brig softly and silently rippled onward, gently heaving and breathing as she went, as she lifted with the long ocean folds flowing in pale blue out of the north-west. I found it easy to steer. The little vessel, like a thoroughbred to the lightest pressure of its rein, answered to a movement of the spokes; I held the course as I found it dead to the lubber’s mark; indeed, I think it is easier to steer with a wheel than a tiller.