“I’ll say.” Hodges took off his wet parka and disappeared into the galley. A few minutes later he was back, his face and hair dry.
“What did Mr Evans have to say about the weather?”
“I don’t know. He yelled to me out the window, that’s all. I was on the front deck. So I came back in. The waves are really going over the deck.”
“Oh.” The Major was beginning to feel sick.
Chaplain O’Mahoney walked into the salon from the galley.
“Isn’t this rolling dreadful?” he said. The Major noticed that the Chaplain was unusually pale.
“It’s not so nice,” said Major Barkison. O’Mahoney sat down abruptly. He was breathing noisily. “I certainly hope these waves don’t get any larger,” he said. He ran his hand shakily over his forehead.
“It couldn’t be much of a storm,” said the Major. “Mr Evans would have said something about it earlier. They can tell those things before they happen. There’s a lot of warning.” The Major was uneasy, though. Hodges, he noticed, seemed to enjoy this.
Major Barkison went to one of the portholes and looked out. They were in open sea now. The island was five or six miles behind them. Waves, gray and large, were billowing under the ship. On the distant shore he could see great sheets of white spray as the waves broke on the sharp rocks. A light drizzle misted the air.
Very little wind blew. The sky was dark over the island mountains behind them. No gulls flew overhead. A greenish light colored the air.