“Gleat blow storm,” said Ching, nodding. “Hullicane.”
“There you are, sir,” said Jecks. “Hurricanes or tycoons.”
“Typhoons,” I said.
“Yes, sir, that’s it, on’y you pernounces it different to me. Don’t make no difference in the strength on ’em,” he continued testily, for his wound was evidently painful, “whether you spells it with a kay or a phoo. Why, I seed big vessels arterwards, as had been blowed a quarter of a mile inland, where they could never be got off again.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of that sort of thing,” I said. “They ride in on a great wave and are left behind.”
“Lookye here, sir,” whispered the coxswain, who seemed to ignore his wound; “I don’t want to show no white feathers, nor to holler afore I’m hurt, but if I was you, I should ask Mr Brooke to run straight for the nearest shore—say one o’ them islands there, afore the storm comes; you arn’t got no idea what one o’ them tycoons is like. As for this boat, why, she’ll be like a bit o’ straw in a gale, and I don’t want to go to the bottom until I’ve seed you made a skipper; and besides, we’ve got lots more waspses’ nests to take, beside polishing off those three junks—that is, if they’re left to polish when the storm’s done.”
“Stand up, Mr Herrick,” cried the lieutenant. “Look yonder, due north. What do you see?”
I held the tiller between my knees as I stood up and gazed in the required direction, but could see nothing for a few minutes in the dusk.
“Can’t you see?”
“Yes, sir, now. Small round black cloud.”