They made a good run that day, and when, after the ward-room dinner and gun-room supper, Grant and Creggan met upon the quarter-deck, steam had been turned off and the fires banked, for there was just enough wind to send the Rattler on. She ran before it, for it blew off the land, with stunsails set alow and aloft.
It was a delightful night, though not bright, but the clouds that covered the sky were very high and gauzy. They had many a rift of blue, however, and whenever she had a chance while the clouds went scudding on, the moon shone down on the sea with a radiance brighter than diamonds.
Now and then a shoal of playful dolphins would go leaping and dancing past. It was evident that they enjoyed the beauty of the night as well, if not better, than even Grant or Creggan could.
The Rattler's record till she reached the Bay of Biscay, which she skirted only, was really a good one for a ship of such small horse-power. Though an iron-clad, remember, she had sails and rigging as well as steam. But now the scene changed! The glass went down like falling over a cliff, banks of sugarloaf clouds rose one evening threateningly in the east, and it was evident to every seafarer on board that it was to be a dirty night. So sails were got in, and the ship made snug, while the engineer speedily got up steam.
Creggan was in the first mate's watch, and they had the middle watch to keep to-night.
A man had come down below to shake his hammock and call him. That hammock required a good deal of shaking before Creggan was thoroughly aroused. But he turned out at once.
"Better put on your oil-skins, sir," said the seaman.
"Is it blowing, then?"
"Hark, don't you hear it roar, sir? It's blowing real big guns, Dahlgrens and Armstrongs, all in a heap. Hurry up, sir! It's gone eight bells minutes ago."
Creggan was not long in getting on deck. He tied the flaps of his oil-skin over his ears and under his chin. A good thing, too, for the wind was wild enough to have torn one's hair off. Creggan could scarcely stand or stagger against it. Nor could the gun-boat make much headway either. Hardly, perhaps, a knot an hour.