But every time we came near a vessel going the other way, we looked about to see if we could see anything of an officer with a trumpet, standing all ready to sing out, "Sail ho!" But, after a while, we felt so cold that we couldn't stand it any longer, and we went below.

We might have gone and stood by the smoke-stack and warmed ourselves, but we didn't know enough about ships to think of this.
We hadn't been standing around the stove in the dining-room more than ten minutes, before the purser came hurrying toward us.
"Come, now," he said, "tumble forward! The captain's hailed a pilot-boat." "Hurrah!" said Scott; "we're going back in a pilot-boat, after all!" and we all ran after the purser to the lower forward deck.

Our engines had stopped, and not far from us was a rough-looking little schooner with a big "17" painted in black on her mainsail.

She was "putting about," the purser said, and her sails were flapping in the wind.
There was a great change in the countenances of Tom Myers and his brother George.

They looked like a couple of new boys.
"Isn't this capital ?" said Scott.