In a colder clime their condition would have been sufficiently comfortless; but in the ocean atmosphere of the torrid zone the night hours are warm enough to render “wet sheets” not only endurable, but at times even pleasant.
I have said that all of them went to sleep. It was not their usual custom to do so. On other nights one was always upon the watch,—either the captain himself, the ex-cook, or the boy. Of course Lilly Lalee enjoyed immunity from this kind of duty: since she was not, properly speaking, one of the “crew,” but only a “passenger.”
Their customary night-watch had a twofold object: to hold the Catamaran to her course, and to keep a lookout over the sea,—the latter having reference to the chance if seeing a sail.
On this particular night their vigil,—had it been kept,—might have had a threefold purpose: for it is not to be forgotten that they were still not so very far from their late pursuers. They too must have been making way with the wind.
Neither had the Catamarans forgotten it; but even with this thought before their minds, they were unable to resist the fascinations of Morpheus; and leaving the craft to take her own course, the ships, if there were any, to sail silently by, and the big raft, if chance so directed it, to overtake them, they yielded themselves to unconscious slumber.
Simultaneously were they awakened, and by a sound that might have awakened the dead. It was a shriek that came pealing over the surface of the ocean,—as unearthly in its intonation as if only the ocean itself could have produced it! It was short, sharp, quick, and clear; and so loud as to startle even Snowball from his torpidity.
The Coromantee was the first to inquire into its character.
“Wha’ de debbil am dat?” he asked, rubbing his ears to make sure that he was not labouring under a delusion.
“Shiver my timbers if I can tell!” rejoined the sailor, equally puzzled by what he had heard.
“Dat soun’ berry like da voice o’ some un go drown,—berry like. Wha’ say you, Massa Brace?”