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 hoarse laugh.  “But man, what is it you are saying about having run out of the wind?  Look at the glass!”

“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 fashion, as he answered: 

“Oh, that thing!  That’s the passengers’ glass.  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 glass 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 ship.  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 petition, 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.”