"Born and brought up in Edgartown, made my first voyage on a tramp out of New Bedford: guess I know something about the weather in these latitudes! The wind's been hauling round from sou'west to south all day. If it goes on to sou'east, it'll likely be thick to-morrow, with little wind, no sea to speak of, and either rain or fog."
"So! Now to do what I will have to do, I must have ten minutes of absolute darkness. Can that be arranged?"
"Absolute darkness?" The mutter had a rising inflexion of dubiety. "How d'you mean?"
"Complete extinguishing of every light on the ship."
"My God!" the mutter protested. "Do you know what that means? No lights at night, under way, in main-travelled waters! Why, by nightfall we ought to be off Block Island, in traffic as heavy as on Fifth Avenue! No: that's too much."
"Too bad," Lanyard uttered, philosophic. "And the thing could have been done."
"Isn't there some other way?"
"Not with lights to hamper my operations. But if some temporary accident were to put the dynamoes out of commission--figure to yourself what would happen."
"There'd be hell to pay."
"Ah! but what else?"