'Read it out,' he sighed, throwing one leg out of the bunk.
'Menelaus, Monsoon, Manner, and Minx raise steam, and report when ready to proceed.'
'I thought so. What's the weather?'
'Very dark, and blowing a bit, sir,' said Rosser cheerfully, the moisture from his dripping oilskins forming a nice little puddle on the skipper's carpet. 'It's been raining hard this last half-hour.'
Wooten groaned. 'Right! Tell all the officers, and ask Mr Thompson to let me know how soon he'll be ready. And on your way forward tell Spry I want him.'
Spry, able seaman, was the captain's body-servant and general factotum.
Wooten threw open the small scuttle over his bunk and looked out. It was as black as pitch, the wind whistled and moaned mournfully, and a wave of moisture smote him in the face. It would be a wild and wet night at sea. Altogether a depressing night, there was not the least doubt about that. 'Ugh!' he grunted, slamming the scuttle to and drawing the bedclothes up to his chin.
Enter Spry.
'Usual sea-gear,' his master murmured.
The man nodded. He knew exactly what was wanted.