"Like what?" said I.
"Why, like the noise of the rain on deck, just now."
I listened, and perceived a low rushing noise, that gradually increased, until the sound appeared to be produced by a cataract of peas pouring down on the deck above.
"There's a shower for you, Master Brail—when heard you such another?"
"Seldom, I confess—seldom—but why have you startled me in this way, Donovan?—if it should rain pike-staves and old women—I cannot help it."—Snore.
No rest for the wicked, however, for Lanyard now awoke, and began to don his garments as fast as he could. During which operation, he stumbled violently against my berth, which fairly wakened me. "Why, Dick, where away in such a hurry this fine morning?"
"On deck, my lad—on deck,—but how it does tumble down, to be sure!"
"On deck?—Don't, Dick, do that thing now—don't—what if the lightning should mistake you for a rusty conductor, man?"
He laughed as he vanished up the ladder, and once more I was falling over, when I was most effectually roused by my troublesome chum, Master Dennis Donovan, whose voice could scarcely be heard through the rushing of another heavy shower on the hollow deck overhead. But this time he was addressing some one on deck, and from where I lay I could see up the companion ladder.
"I say, Mr Peak" (the little midshipman), "Mr Peak, how does the weather look?"