“Strikes me, Mr Lane,” said the mate, “that we’re the only savages here. Now, gentlemen, who says a drink of cocoa-nut milk, and then we’ll make haste back to the brig.”
There was ample store swinging overhead, and after a couple of tries, a man succeeded in climbing one of the tall, spar-like trees, and shaking down ample for their light lunch. A couple of hours later they had traversed the wave-swept plain, and reached the brig, where they were heartily welcomed by the portion of the crew left in charge.
“But what’s the matter?” cried the mate. “You all look white about the gills.”
“Had a bit of a scare, sir,” said one of the men. “All at wonst, it was just as if the brig was an old cow a trying to get on her legs. For she was heaved up, shook herself a bit, and then settled down again, just as she was before.”
“Not quite, my lad,” said Wriggs. “Speak the truth whatever yer does. She’s got a cant to port since we went away.”
He was quite right, the Planet’s deck was no longer level, but had a slope, and the masts, instead of being perpendicular, slanted slightly towards the horizon.
“Yes, Tommy Smith. Wet as you are,” whispered Wriggs, solemnly, “I must tell yer the truth, it’s as they say quite dangerous to be safe.”