'The one nearest the door,' said an elderly master's mate. 'Will you volunteer, sir?'
'I'll be the Daniel,' said the erstwhile lookout desperately. 'Remember me in your prayers.'
He pulled his coat smooth, twitched at his neckcloth, and was gone, the remainder waiting in gloomy silence, relieved only by the glug-glug of the bottle as the bibulous midshipman took another swig. A full ten minutes passed before the candidate for promotion returned, making a brave effort to smile.
'Six months more at sea?' asked someone.
'No,' was the unexpected answer. 'Three! I was told to send the next man. It had better be you.'
'But what did they ask you?'
'They began by asking me to define a rhumb line… But don't keep them waiting, I advise you.' Some thirty officers had their textbooks open on the instant to reread about thumb lines.
'You were there ten minutes,' said the clerkly officer, looking at his watch. 'Forty of us, ten minutes each — why, it'll be midnight before they reach the last of us. They'll never do it.'
'They'll be hungry.' said someone.
'Hungry for our blood,' said another.