Part 5 (1/2)

”Ha! ha!” laughed Rory, ”you'll have forgotten all about it long before then.”

”Freezing Powders!” roared Ralph.

The bright-faced though bullet-headed n.i.g.g.e.r boy introduced in last chapter appeared instantly. He was dressed in white flannel, braided with blue. Had he been a sprite, or a djin, he couldn't have popped up with more startling rapidity. Truth is, the young rascal had been asleep under the table.

”Off on deck with you, Freezing Powders, and see what's up.”

Freezing Powders was down again in a moment.

”Take in all sail, sah! and square de yard; no wind, sah! nebber a puff.”

It was just as Freezing Powders said, but there was noise enough presently, and puffing too, for steam was got up, and the great screw was churning the waters of the dark northern ocean into creamish foam, as the vessel went steadily ahead at about ten knots an hour. There was no occasion to hurry. When Rory and Allan went on deck, they found the captain in consultation with the mates, Mitch.e.l.l and Stevenson.

”I must admit,” McBain was remarking, ”that I can't make it out at all.”

”No more can we,” said Stevenson with a puzzled smile. ”The wind has failed us all at once, and the sea gone down, and the gla.s.s seems to have taken leave of its senses entirely. It is up one moment high enough for anything, and down the next to 28 degrees. There, just look at that sea and look at that sky.”

There was certainly something most appalling in the appearance of both.

The ocean was calm and unruffled as gla.s.s, with only a long low heave on it; not a ripple on it big enough to swamp a fly; but over it all a strange, gla.s.sy l.u.s.tre that--so you would have thought--could have been skimmed off. The sky was one ma.s.s of dark purple-black clouds in ma.s.ses. It seemed no distance overhead, and the horizon looked hardly a mile away on either side. Only in the north it was one unbroken bluish black, as dark seemingly as night, from the midst of which every now and then, and every here and there, would come quickly a little puff of cloud of a lightish grey colour, as if a gun had been fired. Only there was no sound.

There was something awe-inspiring in the strange, ominous look of sea and sky, and in the silence broken only by the grind and gride of screw and engine.

”No,” said McBain, ”I don't know what we are going to have. Perhaps a tornado. Anyhow, Mr Stevenson, let us be ready. Get down topgallant masts, it will be a bit of exercise for the men; let us have all the steam we can command, and--”

”Batten down, sir?”

”Yes, Mr Stevenson, batten down, and lash the boats inboard.”

The good s.h.i.+p _Arrandoon_ was at the time of which I write about fifty miles south of the Faroes, and a long way to the east. The weather had been dark and somewhat gloomy, from the very time they lost sight of the snow-clad hills around Oban, but it now seemed to culminate in a darkness that could be felt.

The men were well drilled on board this steam yacht. McBain delighted to have them smart, and it was with surprising celerity that the topgallant masts were lowered, the hatches battened down, and the good s.h.i.+p prepared for any emergency. None too soon; the darkness grew more intense, especially did the clouds look threatening ahead of them. And now here and there all round them the sea began to get ruffled with small whirlwinds, that sent the water wheeling round and round like miniature maelstroms, and raised it up into cones in the centre.

”How is the gla.s.s now, Mr Stevenson?” asked McBain.

”Stands very low, sir,” was the reply, ”but keeps steadily down.”

”All right,” said McBain; ”now get two guns loaded with ball cartridge; have no more hands on deck than we want. No idlers, d'ye hear?”

”Ay, ay, sir.”

”Send Magnus Bolt here.”

”Now, Magnus, old man,” continued McBain, ”d'ye mind the time, some years ago in the _s...o...b..rd_, when you rid us of that troublesome pirate?”

”Ay, that I do right well, sir,” said this little old weasened specimen of humanity, rubbing his hands with delight. ”It were a fine shot that.

He! he! he! Mercy on us, to see his masts and sails come toppling down, sir,--he! he! he!”

”Well, I want you again, Magnus; I'd rather trust to your old eye in an emergency than to any in the s.h.i.+p.”

”But where is the foe, sir?”