“Yes; excellent,” said Mr Frewen. “I’ll open mine at once.”
He crept cautiously across and opened the door to its full extent, and, as he told me afterwards, he placed a heavy case of instruments against it, so that it should not swing to again from the motion of the ship.
The next minute he was back, and we were watching and waiting as the ship laboured terribly, the sea being now terrific; but, as Mr Brymer whispered, everything possible had been done, and she was under close-reefed storm canvas.
“I couldn’t have done better myself there, but the men at the wheel are steering very wildly.”
There was silence again, and as I listened for a voice, the lanterns forward swung to and fro, and so much water came aboard that I fully expected to see them extinguished, when all forward would have been in darkness.
“Is he never coming again?” whispered Mr Frewen at last.
“Oh yes, he’ll come,” said Mr Brymer. “They’ve got the grog forward there, and perhaps he has gone below.”
“Then why not crawl forward and clap on the forecastle-hatch?”
“Because it will be far safer for us to secure their leader; and, besides, by closing up the forksle you might shut in our friends as well.”
“Yes, quite right,” replied Mr Frewen, and we waited still, with the wind shrieking amongst the cordage, and the night appearing blacker than ever.