"Not much doubt about it holding, sir," declared the man, glancing to windward. "Unless I'm much mistaken there'll be a power o' wind afore nightfall—more'n we'll want," he added under his breath.
"Cover up that hard tack there," ordered the Sub, as the first spray flew over the gunwale and threatened to soak the scanty supply of biscuits. "A pull on your fore-sheet there. That's better; now she feels it."
The whaler was moving now, cutting through the rising waves like a race-horse. Every stitch of canvas was drawing, while feathers of spray dashed over the weather bow. But, in spite of these encouraging conditions, the wind was backing slowly yet steadily. By sunset it was broad on the starboard beam.
As darkness set in Webb relieved the coxswain at the tiller. Few words were spoken between them, for the Sub's attention was mainly directed to windward, ready to cope with any sudden increase of wind. Either seated or lying on the bottom-boards, the men were engaged in the time-honoured custom of "chewing the rag" before "turning in" on their hard couch. Scraps of conversation caught the Sub's ears. He smiled grimly, for the boat's crew were not discussing the chances of the hazardous voyage, or the plight of their comrades they had left behind: an animated discussion was in progress as to which team won the English Cup in a certain year of that remote period previous to the outbreak of the greatest war the world has yet seen.
At eight bells the "watch below" turned in, their outlines just discernible in the starlight as, in unpicturesque attitudes, each sleeper adapted himself as comfortably to his individual tastes as hard and unyielding bottom-boards permitted. Their comrades, told off for the night watches, crouched under the lee of the gunwale, sheltering from the keen wind, for with the setting of the sun the temperature had fallen considerably. Clad only in sub-tropical uniforms and being unprovided with greatcoats, the men felt acutely the contrast between the heat of the day and the chilliness of the night. When at length the order came to reef sails, they obeyed smartly and cheerfully. The very act of doing something was as balm to their cold and cramped limbs.
Webb had been wise to reef in time. The wind was now for'ard of the beam and increasing in violence. Directly water showed a tendency to come over the lee gunwale he had given the order to shorten sail.
He was very anxious—not on account of the rising wind and sea, but because it was now only just possible to keep the whaler on her course.
"If the wind backs another point it will head us," he remarked to the coxswain.
"'Fraid it will, sir," was the imperturbable reply. "I'd as lief up helm and run for Malta as make board after board and not gain more'n a few yards to wind'ard."
The Sub had to admit the force of the petty officer's remarks. The whaler, being unprovided with a drop keel, would make a very indifferent performance to windward. There were no tidal currents to help her—the Mediterranean being tideless—and what "drift" there was would be against her, since the currents in this part of the vast inland sea are set up solely by the force of the prevailing wind. In these circumstances it might take a week or more to reach Crete, and by that time the comrades they had left behind would be conquered by famine, even if they succeeded in holding in check the savage foes who menaced them.