“Is the Chaplain in the salon?”
“Yes. I think he’s sick. Your cook is, too.”
“I can’t help that. I’d appreciate it, Major, if you and the Lieutenant would go below. The mate who is not on duty here will stay in the salon with you. I’ll have him keep you posted on what’s happening.”
“Right.” Major Barkison was relieved to see Evans had such firm control of the situation. “We’ll go down now,” he said to Evans.
In the salon the Chaplain was waiting for them. “What did they have to say?” he asked.
“Going to blow pretty hard,” the Major answered.
The Chaplain groaned. “I suppose we must bear this,” he said at last in a tired voice. “These things will happen.”
Duval walked in; he looked worried. “I don’t like this so much,” he said.
“It does seem messy,” the Major answered, trying to sound flippant.
“Looks like the start of a williwaw. That’s what I think it looks like. I could be wrong.” Duval was gloomy.