Tom jumped out of his bunk, and began to dress, quickly.

“Blowin’ adrift!” he said.  “There ain’t all that much wind; and I tucked the ends of the gaskets well in under the other turns.”

“P’raps one of ther gaskets is rotten, and given way,” suggested Stubbins.  “Anyway, you’d better hurry up, it’s just on eight bells.”

A minute later, eight bells went, and we trooped away aft for roll-call.  As soon as the names were called over, I saw the Mate lean towards the Second and say something.  Then the Second Mate sung out: 

“Tom!”

“Sir!” answered Tom.

“Was it you made fast that fore royal, last watch?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“How’s that it’s broken adrift?”

“Carn’t say, Sir.”

“Well, it has, and you’d better jump aloft and shove the gasket round it again.  And mind you make a better job of it this time.”

“i, i, Sir,” said Tom, and followed the rest of us forrard.  Reaching the fore rigging, he climbed into it, and began to make his way leisurely aloft.  I could see him with a fair amount of distinctness, as the moon was very clear and bright, though getting old.

I went over to the weather pin-rail, and leaned up against it, watching him, while I filled my pipe.  The other men, both the watch on deck and the watch below, had gone into the fo’cas’le, so that I imagined I was the only one about the maindeck.  Yet, a minute later, I discovered that I was mistaken; for, as I proceeded to light up, I saw Williams, the young cockney, come out from under the lee of the house, and turn and look up at the Ordinary as he went steadily upwards.  I was a little surprised, as I knew he and three of the others had a “poker fight” on, and he’d won over sixty pounds of tobacco.  I believe I opened my mouth to sing out to him to know why he wasn’t playing; and then, all at once, there came into my mind the memory of my first conversation with him.  I remembered that he had said sails were always blowing adrift at night.  I remembered the, then, unaccountable emphasis he had laid on those two words; and remembering that, I felt suddenly afraid.  For, all at once, the absurdity had struck me of a sail—­even a badly stowed one—­blowing adrift in such fine and calm weather as we were then having.  I wondered I had not seen before that there was something queer and unlikely about the affair.  Sails don’t blow adrift in fine weather, with the sea calm and the ship as steady as a rock.  I moved away from the rail and went towards Williams.  He knew something, or, at least, he guessed at something that was very much a blankness to me at that time.  Up above, the boy was climbing up, to what?  That was the thing that made me feel so frightened.  Ought I to tell all I knew and guessed?  And then, who should I tell?  I should only be laughed at—­I—­

Williams turned towards me, and spoke.

“Gawd!” he said, “it’s started agen!”