“Mr. Fritz!” he said.
Fritz Robinson raised his head and bent round.
“What do you want, bo’sun?” he asked.
“Look over there—towards the east.”
“What do you think you see?”
“If I’m not mistaken, a kind of rift, like a belt, on the water-line.”
Unmistakably there was a lighter line along the horizon in that direction. Sky and sea could be distinguished with more definiteness. It was as if a rent had just been made in the dome of mist and vapour.
“It’s wind!” the boatswain declared.
“Isn’t it only the first beginning of daybreak?” the passenger asked.
“It might be daylight, though it’s very early for it,” John Block replied, “and again it might be a breeze! I felt something of it in my beard just now, and look!—it’s twitching still! I’m aware it’s not a breeze to fill the top-gallant sails, but anyhow it’s more than we’ve had for the last four and twenty hours. Put your hand to your ear, Mr. Fritz, and listen; you’ll hear what I heard.”