Little time was lost in catering for our mess.  Biscuit and salt beef were our sole resource; and, thanks to the generosity of the Areturion’s owners, our ship’s company had a plentiful supply.  Casks of both, with heads knocked out, were at the service of all.  In bags which we made for the purpose, a sufficiency of the biscuit was readily stored away, and secreted in a corner of easy access.  The salt beef was more difficult to obtain; but, little by little, we managed to smuggle out of the cask enough to answer our purpose.

As for water, most luckily a day or two previous several “breakers” of it had been hoisted from below for the present use of the ship’s company.

These “breakers” are casks, long and slender, but very strong.  Of various diameters, they are made on purpose to stow into spaces intervening between the immense butts in a ship’s hold.

The largest we could find was selected, first carefully examining it to detect any leak.  On some pretense or other, we then rolled them all over to that side of the vessel where our boat was suspended, the selected breaker being placed in their middle.

Our compendious wardrobes were snugly packed into bundles and laid aside for the present.  And at last, by due caution, we had every thing arranged preliminary to the final start.  Let me say, though, perhaps to the credit of Jarl, that whenever the most strategy was necessary, he seemed ill at ease, and for the most part left the matter to me.  It was well that he did; for as it was, by his untimely straight-forwardness, he once or twice came near spoiling every thing.  Indeed, on one occasion he was so unseasonably blunt, that curiously enough, I had almost suspected him of taking that odd sort of interest in one’s welfare, which leads a philanthropist, all other methods failing, to frustrate a project deemed bad; by pretending clumsily to favor it.  But no inuendoes; Jarl was a Viking, frank as his fathers; though not so much of a bucanier.

CHAPTER VI Eight Bells

The moon must be monstrous coy, or some things fall out opportunely, or else almanacs are consulted by nocturnal adventurers; but so it is, that when Cynthia shows a round and chubby disk, few daring deeds are done.  Though true it may be, that of moonlight nights, jewelers’ caskets and maidens’ hearts have been burglariously broken into—­and rifled, for aught Copernicus can tell.

The gentle planet was in her final quarter, and upon her slender horn I hung my hopes of withdrawing from the ship undetected.

Now, making a tranquil passage across the ocean, we kept at this time what are called among whalemen “boatscrew-watches.”  That is, instead of the sailors being divided at night into two bands, alternately on deck every four hours, there were four watches, each composed of a boat’s crew, the “headsman” (always one of the mates) excepted.  To the officers, this plan gives uninterrupted repose—­“all-night-in,” as they call it, and of course greatly lightens the duties of the crew.