He had been reading odd items in an old copy of the Sydney Herald, and put it down just as two great rats that had come up from the hold scampered across the deck. This was nothing unusual, and after stamping with his foot to scare the bold creatures, he glanced at the binnacle.
“Keep her at N. N. E., Matt; you’ve let her go off a point. Watch the card, man.”
“Keep her at N. N. E., sir,” the fellow repeated, shifting his quid to starboard as Freeman walked away.
“I’ll see how the lookout does,” the officer thought, “though if every night was like this, there’d be little need of any.”
He went forward along the port side. Happening to cast a glance through the open forecastle door, he noticed that the light was out.
“That’s queer,” he soliloquized; “it burned brightly enough when I passed by a couple of hours ago.”
He entered the door to see if the wick was out of order, or whether all the oil had been consumed. Neither—the lantern was gone!
He had just made this discovery, and was leaving the building to ask his men whether any of them had removed the light, when a curious jarring sensation rooted him to the deck. The idea of a submarine earthquake flashed through his brain, but within a second’s time there was a deafening report,—a blinding flash,—a staggering of the bark,—and then flying timbers and bales of merchandise were hurled skyward with awful power. The whole after part of the vessel seemed going up in the air piecemeal!
“Great God!” breathed Freeman, grasping the ladder on the forward house.
His self-possession soon returned. Already some of the crew had begun to act like lunatics.