“And gone like that!” cried the mate in astonishment. “Ahoy there, Mr Frewen, Preddle,” he shouted, “what time should you think it is?”
“My watch is not going,” replied Mr Frewen; “but I should say it is about midnight.”
“Oh no,” cried Mr Preddle, in his highly-pitched voice; “about eleven at the outside. Do you think we may venture to lie down again?”
“Almost a pity, isn’t it,” said the mate, merrily. “Look yonder—there—right astern.”
“Yes?” said Mr Frewen. “What is that? The moon about to rise?”
“Say sun, and you will be right,” cried Mr Brymer. “Go and lie down if you like, gentlemen; but look yonder too; there is a fleck of orange high up. For my part, I propose a good breakfast.”
“No, no, you cannot be right,” said Mr Frewen, from the main-deck; “but we’ll take our watch now. Mr Denning, will you and your sister go and take yours below?”
“No, not yet,” said Mr Denning.
“Then I must speak as the medical man, and give my patient orders. You ought both to have some sleep now.”
“Wonderful!” cried Mr Preddle, excitedly. For, with the wondrous rapidity of change from night to day so familiar in the tropics, the morning broke without any of the gradations of dawn and twilight. There was a brilliant glow of red, which, as we gazed at it, became gold; and then, dazzling in its brightness, the edge of the sun appeared above the gleaming water, still and smooth as ever; then higher and higher, sending its rays across the vast level, and turning all to gold. It was between us and the sun now one broad patch of light, but not quite all golden glory, for as I looked right away from the poop-deck, with that indescribable feeling of joy in my breast which comes when the darkness of night and its horrors give place to the life and light of day, I felt a strange contraction about my heart—a curious shrinking sensation of dread.