“Call to them, Malië.”
Malié stepped out on the deck, and presently Ryan and the others heard him speaking. In a minute or two I he reappeared with three or four stalwart natives, all dripping wet, and said something to Raymond, who translated the remark to Ryan.
“All the others have bolted like rabbits, some into the galley, and others into the foc'sle,” he said.
In less than the ten minutes predicted by Frewen the rain ceased as if by magic; the natives gathered together again on the main deck, completed their grog drinking, went into their boat again, and poshed off to resume their labour.
In the course of another half an hour every one of the native boats' crews had had his small tumblerful of neat rum, and then, as their paddles plunged into the placid water, once more they sang their chorus—
“Ala, tamaaitii, Alo foe!” (“Pull, boys, pull!”)
CHAPTER XI
Six bells struck, and then once more the stars went out, and the sky changed from blue to dull grey.
“Very heavy rain will fall again presently,” said Raymond to the leader of the mutineers, “and as the ship is well now in the counter current and out of danger, the chief would like to call his men alongside for a rest. But we'll tow you for another mile or so after the rain ceases—if you wish it.”