The mainsail flapped so heavily that Holdsworth ordered it to be furled. The song of the men brought the captain on deck. He flitted, shadow-like, about the binnacle, sniffed at the night impatiently, and then went to Holdsworth.
“The glass has fallen half an inch since eight bells,” said he.
“Yes, sir; there’ll be a change before morning.”
“Better stow the royals and mizzen-top gall’ns’l.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
These, the topmost sails of the ship, were just discernible from the deck. In a few moments their dim outlines melted, and some dark figures went up into the gloom and vanished.
The captain returned to his cabin, and Holdsworth strolled the deck. At two bells (one o’clock) the haze went out of the sky and the stars shone fiercely. Holdsworth, standing on the starboard side of the poop, felt a light air creeping about his face, and the sound of the flapping sails ceased.
“How’s her head?”
“North-a-quarter-west, sir.”