At dinner in the cuddy, on the afternoon of the third day, dating from the incident of the singing of the hymn in the hatch, the captain spoke of a partial eclipse of the moon that was to happen that evening at about nine o’clock. I stood behind the captain’s chair when this was said, for I must tell you that I now regularly waited at table, though Frank was above me, and I had to do work which Mr. Stiles would not have put the young German to.
The doctor lifted his head from the soup-plate which he overhung and exclaimed: ‘A partial eclipse of the moon? That will be an interesting sight!’
Captain Barrett and the subaltern asked several questions about this eclipse. The conversation flowed on. I fetched a second or third course from the galley, and whilst the captain carved, the doctor, looking at him, said: ‘I have a great mind to allow the convicts, in divisions, to witness this eclipse. The spectacle might produce a very salutary effect upon the minds of many. The loneliness of the ocean, the sight of the familiar face of the moon being slowly darkened—it will provide me with a fine subject for our address to-morrow, and the prisoners will be more likely to benefit from my discourse by having beheld the eclipse. You are sure, sir, that the hour is nine?’
‘About nine. I will presently let you know for certain,’ answered the captain.
‘We should require the guard drawn up on the poop,’ said the doctor.
‘Give your orders, Ellice,’ said Captain Barrett.
‘The soldiers and the women will enjoy the sight,’ said the doctor; ‘it is insufferably hot in the prison. These occasional indulgences often do much good.’
‘How long does the eclipse last?’ asked the subaltern.
‘I believe the disk is less than a quarter obscured,’ replied the captain.
‘That should give time for each division to take a peep,’ exclaimed Captain Barrett.