“Sure an where’s the harrum,” said Pat, “if it does come into the cabin, so long as we’re high up in our berths, out of reach?”
“Solomon’ll have trouble in cooking to-morrow,” said Bart.
“Then we’ll feed on biscuit,” said Arthur. “A few days ago we’d have been glad enough to be where we are now.”
“That’s true,” said Bruce; “and, besides, tomorrow the Antelope’ll be almost sure to be here. This wind’s fair, and as I’ve always said, what’s bad for us in one way is best for us in another, for-it’ll bring the Antelope along all the faster.”
In this way they all made light of the change that had taken place; and, turning away, they all went to the cabin and retired to their respective berths. The lamp under the skylight was burning brightly, the cabin had its usual cheerful appearance, and the comforts here served still more to make them overlook the troubles outside.
So they all went to bed.
For a few hours they slept.
Then they were awakened by a cry—a wild, wailing cry, a cry of terror and of despair. Every one started up at once. The cry came again from the cabin.
“O, chilen, we’re lost! we’re done for! we’re ru-i-na-ted for ebbemo!”
“Hallo, Solomon!” cried Bart. “What are you making all that row about?”