That was the most fearful speech I ever heard him utter. Nothing had ever disturbed his supreme confidence before. I crept away heartsick and awed, and managed to get safely below, where I found Uncle Naboth smoking his pipe in the main cabin.
“Where yer been, Sam?” he inquired.
“Talking to father.”
“What does he say?”
“We’ve lost our bearings and the sea is full of islands. The ship is all right, you know. It’s only the water that’s dangerous.”
He gave a grunt and looked thoughtful.
“I’ve seen gales, ’n’ gales,” he remarked presently. “Usually they’re respectable critters an’ you know what to expect of ’em. But this sort of a jugglin’ wind beats all figgerin’. Fer me, Sam, I fall back on our luck. It’s stayed by us so far, an’ I don’t see no reason fer it to change front. Eh?”
“I agree with you, Uncle,” I replied, and was about to add another optimistic remark when in rushed—or tumbled, rather—Señor de Jiminez, his face white and his teeth chattering. He had shed his gorgeous raiment and was attired merely in a dark brown bath robe.
“Tell me,” he said, steadying himself by the table as the ship lurched to leeward, “is there—can there be—any danger?”
“Danger of what?” I asked, not knowing just how to reply to him.