At four o’clock that day they knew that they could not do it. There was no grog on board, so they were having a cup of tea in the saloon. The Captain sat at the head of the table, before the tin teapot and a plate of fancy biscuits.
The Captain and Harman were the only two men on board with a knowledge of what was coming.
“Another lump of sugar in mine,” said Harman. “I don’t hold with tea; I never did hold with tea. The only thing that can be said for it is it’s a drink. And how some of them blighters ashore lives suckin’ it day and night gets me.”
He was drinking out of his saucer.
“Oh, tea’s all right. I reckon tea’s all right,” said the Captain in an absent-minded manner.
“Maybe it is, but give me a hot whisky and you may take your tea to them that like it,” replied Harman.
He lit his pipe and went on deck. The Captain followed. They could not keep away from the fascination up above.
The bos’n was on the bridge, and they relieved him.
Not a sign of land was in sight, and the sea was running higher than ever.