Lennox, poor fellow, brought the hat, an old silk one, worn white at the edges, with the pasteboard frame-work appearing in numberless places—a most shocking bad hat certainly. He held it up to the lieutenant. The Irishman looked at it—"Hat!—that's not mine, steward—that's Mr Brail's.—Mercy on me, Benjamin, a'nt you ashamed to wear a thing like this?"—It was the vagabond's own all the while—"but don't mind, don't mind—so good-by, Lanyard—good-by," as his brother officer stepped into the boat, that was surging about on the fast-rising sea alongside.
"Stop, you may as well leave me the kay of the locker, for your visit will be longer in that same ship, or I greatly mistake, than you bargain for." He here coolly resumed his shaving, and Ricardo shoved off, taking me with him, as I was rejoiced to have another opportunity of seeing my amiable friends of last evening. We had not pulled above half a dozen strokes, when poor Lennox ran to the side—"Beg pardon, but a squall is coming, sir—there, sir, in the south-east, where we saw the rain just now."
I had not time to look round, when Donovan having put up his razor, again sung out—"By the powers, my lads, but the Scotchman is right; it requires no second sight to prophesy a squall anon.—There, there it is coming, sure enough; about ship and come back, Lanyard, or it is as clear as mud that we shall be minus your own beautiful self and the boat's crew in a jiffey, not forgetting Benjie there; and what's worse, our only boat that will swim."
It is folly to despise a hint where it is well meant, so in an instant we were on board again, and had just got the boat run up, when the commodore telegraphed, "Keep all fast with the boat."
Once more it cleared, and the rain ceased in the quarter where we had recently seen it falling with such violence; but the threatening clouds had sank down right over the spot, and began to boil and whirl in sooty convolutions; like the blackest and thickest of the smoke, as it leaves the funnel of a steamboat immediately after the fire is mended.
Under this gloomy canopy, as far in the south-east as we could see, the black waves were crested with white foam; and a low undefinable hoarse murmur, more like the hollow subterranean sound that precedes the shock of an earthquake than the roar of the ocean, gradually stole down upon us with increasing distinctness.
"Is that thunder?" passed among the men.
"Thunder!" quoth old Dogvane, "I wish it were, my lads."
"It is Davy putting on the coppers for the parsons, and nothing else," said Drainings.
"What is that?"