“Glass going tumbling down, sir,” he says, “and look! look! why, the storm-clouds are banking up yonder already.”
“All hands on deck!” was the order that followed. The men came tumbling up, eager and anxious.
“Lay aft here, lads,” shouted Antonio.
The order was instantly obeyed, though the sworn mutineers lagged a little. Their evil consciences smote them. Oh, not with remorse! They merely imagined that Petersen had split. The ugly Finn stood close behind this sailor, determined that if his suspicions were correct he should immediately plunge his knife into his back.
“Men,” cried Antonio, “there is a storm gathering, and soon to burst, that I mean to be ready for and to fight, for the sake of the good ship that has borne us through so many dangers and trials.”
The mutineers exchanged glances, and the evil Finn edged still nearer to poor Petersen. His hand was on that ugly knife.
“Look to windward, lads. Hear the muttering thunder! We have twenty minutes and no more to trim ship, for unless I am much mistaken we are to have about the biggest thing in tornadoes that ever went whirling over the Atlantic.
“Away aloft there, lads, and get in sail; set the storm-jib, mate, and I’ve little doubt we shall weather it. Now, men, merrily does it. Away!”
The mutineers breathed more freely now; and right cheerily they worked. In an incredibly short time all sails were taken in that could be done without. The rest were close reefed.
When they came below again, the steward, honest Pandoo, was ready to splice the main brace; and never was a glass of rum better deserved.