“If there’s much more motion, we must expect to get a ducking,” said Tom.
“Any way,” said Phil, “my berth’s out of the reach of the water; it’s the upper one.”
“Sure, thin, an I’ll have to change my berth to an upper one,” said Pat, “if that’s what ye’re thinkin of.”
“Well,” said Bruce, “it’ll be all the better for the Antelope. The wind won’t be much, after all. We’ll only feel it because we’re so low in the water.”
“O, of course,” said Bart; “and if the worst comes to the worst, we can go to the quarterdeck.”
The change in their prospects, however, did not in the slightest degree affect the appetite of the boys; but, on the contrary, they exhibited a greater devotion than ordinary to this repast, as though they were all under the impression that this might be the last one which they were to eat under such luxurious circumstances.
This impression, if it did exist, was confirmed after tea, when they went out upon deck. Solomon was there, grave and preoccupied.
“Chilen,” said he, in a mild voice, “we mus get some ’visium up dis yar ebenin on to dat ar quarter-deck. I ben a riggin some tackle to hist up some barls ob biscuit. Dar’s water up dar already, two barls, an dat’ll be nuff for de present. You’ll all hab to len a han, an hist up biscuit barls; an you can fotch up as many oder tings as you can lay yer hans on.”
“O, let’s wait till to-morrow,” said Tom.
“No, no; bes be in time,” said Solomon. “It’s a gwine to blow dis yer night, an we’ve got to work so as to hab all tings ready.”