Below in the bunks of the cuddy five men lay in all possible positions to keep from being flung out. One read, or tried to read, the paper which told of the running away to sea of the rich cigar-maker's son and of the reward offered for his safe delivery into the bosom of his family. Others lay and talked. Another slept, grasping even in his slumbers at the bunk-boards, and mechanically bracing his knee to hold himself during the wild plunges. The creaking and racking of the straining sloop blended with the droning roar overhead, punctuated now and then by a smashing crash as a sea would fall on deck; but the resting men paid little attention to either the noise or motion, until the Captain had finished his pipe.
He suddenly threw down the magazine he had been trying to read for some minutes, and glanced at the barometer on the bulkhead. "Goin' down all the time. I reckon we'll catch it," he said.
"Hurricane season began nigh a month ago," said a man significantly.
"It don't got here alretty yet, maybe," said Heldron.
"Must be," said a Swede.
There was a general movement. All hands reached for oilskins and without further orders followed the Captain on deck.
"How's the wind now, Bill?" bawled the Captain.
"Been easterly; but goin' toe th' s'uthard fast," said the mate. "Looks a bit dirty."
"Whew! Beginning to blow a bit, hey?" said the Captain, as a fierce squall struck them and roared past, sending a blinding cloud of spray and drift over them. The droning cry of the wind in the rigging increased, and the straining cloth stretched until the blast passing over it made a dull, booming, rushing sound of such volume that conversation was deadened in the noise.