Our friends were left in the Trefoil’s saloon, all staring in blank astonishment save McBain. “Listen!” said the latter.
They did, and could hear every now and then three blows struck on the deck, as if by a sledge-hammer, followed immediately by a sentence bellowed from stentorian lungs, but of which they could only distinguish the first word and the last. These were “Away!” and “Ahoy!”
“Whatever is up?” cried Rory at last; “is the ship going down, or has everybody taken sudden leave of his senses?”
“There’s a whale in sight; that’s it!” McBain replied.
“But what is the knocking?” continued Rory.
“Oh, that is to awaken the sleepers,” explained McBain; “they have no boatswain’s pipe in these ships, so they knock with their booted feet. But come, let us go on deck and see the fun.”
The captain met them at the top of the companion.
“We’re off, you see!” he cried, hurriedly. “Come on board and dine with me. I’m going to spear that fish myself; I haven’t a harpooner worth a dump. Keep in the rear of my boat if you’re going to follow, and you’ll see the fun and be in at the death?”
In at the death! Strangely prophetic were the captain’s words; our heroes remembered them afterwards for many a long day.
“A fall! a fall! Yonder she rips! yonder she spouts! A fall! a fall!”