CHAPTER IX
"THE GLORY OF THE STARS"
That evening, Jack, the astronomical weather-prophet (as he laughingly called himself) took advantage of the magnificence of the stars, undimmed by the moon, which was still below the horizon, to bring out his big telescope.
Eight bells had gone and the starboard watch were below until midnight. The greater number of them, preferring the fresh night air to that of the stuffy foc's'le, had brought their blankets up on to the foc's'le head. Here they lay about in attitudes peculiar to sailors, and in which only sailors could sleep.
Only one man lay at full length, flat on his back, his pipe between his lips, as he puffed steadily, a vacant look in his open eyes as he rested his brain as well as his body. This was Red Bill. Near him lay the cockney, curled up like a dog and snoring tunefully, his pipe on the deck by his cheek, where it had fallen from his mouth. A sailor always lights his pipe to go to sleep with, and generally falls asleep smoking. A habit which is supposed to be very dangerous to landlubbers, but which, so far as I have heard, never caused an accident at sea.
Paddy sat jammed between two bollards, his chin sunk upon his chest, in a position which looked the reverse of comfortable, and yet he was sleeping peacefully.
Up in the bows reclined Jack, with the cowboy and Curly. These last two were taking turns to peer through the telescope, whilst Jack discoursed upon the wonders of the heavens.
"Now, just you look at that fellow there, Broncho," said the rover, pointing along the cowboy's line of sight. "That's the planet Saturn."