“So do I,” I said, looking at the whisky bottle. “Otherwise, after taking those precautions to keep us in the dark, he would not have let on like that.”
“Well,” said Bickley, “he can’t get to the liquor, except through this saloon, as it is locked up forward with the other stores.”
“That’s nothing,” I replied, “as doubtless he has a supply of his own; rum, I expect. We must take our chance.”
Bickley nodded, and suggested that we should go on deck to see what was happening. So we went. Not a breath of wind was stirring, and even the sea seemed to be settling down a little. At least, so we judged from the motion, for we could not see either it or the sky; everything was as black as pitch. We heard the sailors, however, engaged in rigging guide ropes fore and aft, and battening down the hatches with extra tarpaulins by the light of lanterns. Also they were putting ropes round the boats and doing something to the spars and topmasts.
Presently Bastin joined us, having, I suppose, finished his devotions.
“Really, it is quite pleasant here,” he said. “One never knows how disagreeable so much wind is until it stops.”
I lit my pipe, making no answer, and the match burned quite steadily there in the open air.
“What is that?” exclaimed Bickley, staring at something which now I saw for the first time. It looked like a line of white approaching through the gloom. With it came a hissing sound, and although there was still no wind, the rigging began to moan mysteriously like a thing in pain. A big drop of water also fell from the sides into my pipe and put it out. Then one of the sailors cried in a hoarse voice:
“Get down below, governors, unless you want to go out to sea!”
“Why?” inquired Bastin.