“Ah, ha! Monsieur is right. Zare is only one. Ze vind storm has blow out ze uzzer. Look, now zare is no light at all. Ze sheep put im out.”
The violence of the rain was now abating, but the wind beat against and shook the window-panes and shrieked as it rushed by. It was evening, and a few minutes before it had been dark as night, but with the cessation of the rain the heavy forms and light rigging of the many vessels gradually became more and more visible, while fresh lights began to come into view, but in every case not moving and swinging about like those in the rigging of the safely moored ships, but gliding about from various directions as if they were in the sterns of boats that had put off from the harbour side.
“Messieurs see?” said the waiter excitedly. “Two boats come now from the fort on ze uzzer side. Look, look! Ze lights shine on ze soldiers’ bayonet. They go to take ze sheep.”
As the man was speaking the brig that had previously taken up so much of Rodd’s attention stood out more clearly. Her riding lights were indeed gone, but there was a peculiar misty look forward, and it was now Rodd’s turn to speak excitedly about what he saw.
“Why, uncle,” he cried, “she’s moving! They’ve slipped their cable and hoisted the jib!”
“Nonsense, boy! Not in a storm like this.”
“I don’t care, uncle; she has. Look; you can see her gliding along.”
“Impossible!”
“It isn’t, uncle. Look, you can see them plainly now; two boats full of men, and they are rowing hard, but getting no nearer to the brig. Here, I want to see; let’s get right down to the harbour.”
“What, to get wet again?” cried Uncle Paul.