Part 6 (1/2)

I asked him whether we could not steam back to our proper course, but he answered that to do so he would have to travel dead in the eye of the gale, and he doubted whether the engines would stand it. Also there was the question of coal to be considered. However, he had kept the fires going and would do what he could if the weather moderated.

That night during dinner which now consisted of tinned foods and whisky and water, for the seas had got to the galley fire, suddenly the gale dropped, whereat we rejoiced exceedingly. The captain came down into the saloon very white and shaken, I thought, and I asked him to have a nip of whisky to warm him up, and to celebrate our good fortune in having run out of the wind. He took the bottle and, to my alarm, poured out a full half tumbler of spirit, which he swallowed undiluted in two or three gulps.

”That's better!” he said with a hoa.r.s.e laugh. ”But man, what is it you are saying about having run out of the wind? Look at the gla.s.s!”

”We have,” said Bastin, ”and it is wonderfully steady. About 29 degrees or a little over, which it has been for the last three days.”

Again Astley laughed in a mirthless fas.h.i.+on, as he answered:

”Oh, that thing! That's the pa.s.sengers' gla.s.s. I told the steward to put it out of gear so that you might not be frightened; it is an old trick.

Look at this,” and he produced one of the portable variety out of his pocket.

We looked, and it stood somewhere between 27 degrees and 28 degrees.

”That's the lowest gla.s.s I ever saw in the Polynesian or any other seas during thirty years. It's right, too, for I have tested it by three others,” he said.

”What does it mean?” I asked rather anxiously.

”South Sea cyclone of the worst breed,” he replied. ”That cursed Dane knew it was coming and that's why he left the s.h.i.+p. Pray as you never prayed before,” and again he stretched out his hand towards the whisky bottle. But I stepped between him and it, shaking my head. Thereon he laughed for the third time and left the cabin. Though I saw him once or twice afterwards, these were really the last words of intelligible conversation that I ever had with Captain Astley.

”It seems that we are in some danger,” said Bastin, in an unmoved kind of way. ”I think that was a good idea of the captain's, to put up a pet.i.tion, I mean, but as Bickley will scarcely care to join in it I will go into the cabin and do so myself.”

Bickley snorted, then said:

”Confound that captain! Why did he play such a trick upon us about the barometer? Humphrey, I believe he had been drinking.”

”So do I,” I said, looking at the whisky bottle. ”Otherwise, after taking those precautions to keep us in the dark, he would not have let on like that.”

”Well,” said Bickley, ”he can't get to the liquor, except through this saloon, as it is locked up forward with the other stores.”

”That's nothing,” I replied, ”as doubtless he has a supply of his own; rum, I expect. We must take our chance.”

Bickley nodded, and suggested that we should go on deck to see what was happening. So we went. Not a breath of wind was stirring, and even the sea seemed to be settling down a little. At least, so we judged from the motion, for we could not see either it or the sky; everything was as black as pitch. We heard the sailors, however, engaged in rigging guide ropes fore and aft, and battening down the hatches with extra tarpaulins by the light of lanterns. Also they were putting ropes round the boats and doing something to the spars and topmasts.

Presently Bastin joined us, having, I suppose, finished his devotions.

”Really, it is quite pleasant here,” he said. ”One never knows how disagreeable so much wind is until it stops.”

I lit my pipe, making no answer, and the match burned quite steadily there in the open air.

”What is that?” exclaimed Bickley, staring at something which now I saw for the first time. It looked like a line of white approaching through the gloom. With it came a hissing sound, and although there was still no wind, the rigging began to moan mysteriously like a thing in pain. A big drop of water also fell from the sides into my pipe and put it out. Then one of the sailors cried in a hoa.r.s.e voice:

”Get down below, governors, unless you want to go out to sea!”

”Why?” inquired Bastin.

”Why? Becos the 'urricane is coming, that's all. Coming as though the devil had kicked it out of 'ell.”

Bastin seemed inclined to remonstrate at this sort of language, but we pushed him down the companion and followed, propelling the spaniel Tommy in front of us. Next moment I heard the sailors battening the hatch with hurried blows, and when this was done to their satisfaction, heard their feet also as they ran into shelter.