Jack, you had better turn in at once."
Virtue was soon on deck again, muffled up in his oilskins.
"Now, Watkins, you can go below and turn in."
"I shan't go below tonight, sir--not to lie down. There's nothing
much to do here, but I couldn't sleep, if I did lie down."
"Very well; you had better go below and get a glass of grog; tell
the steward to give you a big pipe with a cover like this, out of
the locker; and there's plenty of chewing tobacco, if the men are
short."
"I will take that instead of a pipe," Watkins said; "there's nothing
like a quid in weather like this, it aint never in your way, and
it lasts. Even with a cover a pipe would soon be out."
"Please yourself, Watkins; tell the two hands forward to keep a
bright lookout for lights."
The night passed slowly. Occasionally a sea heavier than usual
came on board, curling over the bow and falling with a heavy thud
on the deck, but for the most part the Seabird breasted the waves
easily; the bowsprit had been reefed in to its fullest, thereby
adding to the lightness and buoyancy of the boat. Tom Virtue did
not go below when his friend came up to relieve him at the change
of watch, but sat smoking and doing much talking in the short
intervals between the gusts.
The morning broke gray and misty, driving sleet came along on the
wind, and the horizon was closed in as by a dull curtain.
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