"I thought she would do better in monsoon weather a little by the stern, but I'd no idea she was as much as that, and there's nothing in the cargo stowage that I'm aware of to account for it," said the chief officer.
"Well, I don't know that it matters very much," rejoined the captain; "at all events, we can't alter it now. See everything ready for slipping from the buoy at nine o'clock. Now we'll have breakfast," added he, as eight bells struck. "Has the purser come off with the ship's papers yet?"
"Not yet, sir; but he's been gone some time. I expect he'll be here every minute," replied Mr. Urquhart, as they entered the saloon together.
At the appointed hour the Serampore slipped from her buoy, and steaming away through the shipping at anchor, soon passed the light vessel, and leaving Colaba lighthouse on her quarter, began to breast the heavy seas and face the rain and spray that the fierce monsoon blast[!-- [Pg 209] --] drove against her. In half-an-hour's time nothing was visible but the white-capped waves pounding against her[!-- [Pg 210] --] bows, dimly seen at times through the thick driving rain that enveloped her, as it were, in a dreary and isolated world of her own.
"This is a pleasant prospect," thought I to myself, as I buttoned up my oilskins and ascended the bridge ladder to relieve Mr. Urquhart at eight o'clock.
"Keep her west-sou'-west," said that officer, "and call the captain if there is any change."
"All right, sir," said I. "What's she going?"
"Five and a half," replied the chief officer; "twelve revolutions. Keep a good look-out for ships, Mr. Hardy."
"Ay, ay, sir," said I. "There's one comfort, that we can't change to much worse weather than we've got."