‘What is it?’ I shouted to the colonel, who stood at the foot of the ladder.
‘Only Mrs. Hudson in hysterics,’ he roared; on hearing which I went up again, being in no temper to make one of the nervous company below.
The swell had flattened; all to starboard there was an oozing as of daylight into the breathless thickness, with ugly hump-shaped masses of black vapour defining themselves up in the ugly sallow smother in a sort of writhing way, as though they were coming together in a jumble; but to port it was as black as thunder, an inky slope hoary with rain, with lightning spitting and zigzagging all over it. I went to the rail, where stood Mr. Cocker with his clothes full of water.
‘A pretty little shower!’ said I.
‘Very,’ he answered, with his face showing of a bleached look like the flesh of a washerwoman’s hand. ‘A plague on this sort of work, say I! This serge shrinks consumedly when drenched, and my trousers will be up to my knees to-morrow morning—three pounds ten as good as washed out of a man’s pocket.’
‘Where’s your glass, Mr. Cocker?’
‘In that hencoop there,’ said he.
I pulled out and directed it at the dim blotch of brig that had caught my eye stealing out of the wet dusk like the phantom of a ship.
‘By my great-grandfather’s wig!’ cried I with a start. ‘So! no fear now of being boarded. Our windpipes are safe for the present. Look for yourself, Mr. Cocker.’
He ogled her an instant, then bawled to the skipper, who was speaking to Mr. Prance.