“It’s a pity,” I whispered, “that the moke didn’t use better judgment. If he had given a little less we might have had a chance.”
“It has given Benson an idea at any rate,” said Brown. “You can look out for a pain in the stomach when we sight the land.”
A man was detailed from the crowd of convicts to do the cooking afterward, and others watched him and took turns cleaning up. The moke and Gus disappeared. We never saw them again.
CHAPTER XIX.
As long as the trade-wind lasted I managed to run the ship well enough with Brown’s help, for there was seldom much to do in the way of handling canvas, but as we neared the zone of variables things took a different turn. The third mate was not enough of a sailor to take advantage of the slants, and the heavy weather of the pampero was approaching. It made it necessary for me to be on deck most of the time, and even then I could not save some of the lighter canvas which was caught in a squall. The strain was hard, but Benson, who kept strict watch with his mate, Johnson, called me at any sudden change and spared me not at all.
One morning it fell dead calm. The sun shone through a sort of haze and the day was cool. We had made thirty-three degrees of southing and were about four hundred miles off the Plate. The swell ran smoothly, but even through its oily surface one could see the swirls of the current from the great river. They formed tide rips which ridged the ocean for a space and then disappeared only to form again when a mass of water would force its way to the surface. The sea had lost its blue colour and it was dull. About eleven o’clock in the morning the sun broke through the haze and shone strongly. There was absolutely no wind and we lay drifting all around the compass. Suddenly, from a great distance, came the deep roll of thunder. The sky was now absolutely cloudless and the rolling crashes following each other at close intervals made an uncanny sound. Not a tip of cloud bank rose above the horizon, and the men about the deck gazed in some astonishment at the noise.
I knew it well, and knew it was the pampero from the River Plate. We would get a touch of it during the night and then things would be somewhat mixed aboard the Arrow.
It started to breeze up gently from the westward about sundown, but not a cloud rose above the horizon. By nine o’clock that night it grew very dark. The blackness was most impenetrable. The wind came sighing over the smooth sea, and I began to strip the ship for the fracas.
We carried no running lights, as Benson didn’t care to be seen at night, although, for that matter, he would have been much safer than in the daytime. His ideas upon nautical subjects were at a variance with my own, but I made no comment. We carried a light in the binnacle in order to steer. Besides this single lamp there was never a light allowed aboard the ship except in the captain’s cabin.
I was very tired that evening, but stayed upon the poop watching the west on the lookout for the first signs of a squall. About ten o’clock there was sharp lightning to starboard. We were heading almost due south and our yards were sharp on the starboard tack. Suddenly the blackness grew denser to windward. A deep murmuring came over the inky sea. Then a puff of wind smote sharply.