rom side to side in a state of preternatural
wakefulness, listening to the lap and gurgle of the water against the
ship's side, the creaking of the bulk-heads, the rattling of the hooks
which held the cabin doors wide open, the _yerking_ of the main-sheet
blocks, the _jerk-jerk_ of the rudder and of the lashed wheel above it,
with the swish of the water under the counter and about the stern-post
as the vessel rolled lazily upon the long sluggish swell which came
creeping slowly up from the eastward. And if by chance a momentary
feeling of drowsiness happened to steal over me, which, carefully
fostered, might have eventually led to my falling asleep, it was sure to
be put to flight by some ill-timed movement or speech by those on the
deck above me, although I will do them the justice to say that, so far
as speech was concerned, they spoke but seldom, and then in subdued
tones. At length, however, I was going off, the varied sounds I have
mentioned had lost their distinctness, had changed their character, and
were beginning to merge themselves into the accompaniments of what, a
few minutes later, would have been a dream, when I heard Pottle's voice
exclaim with startling suddenness:

"Hillo! what was that?"

To which young Boyne replied, in unmistakably sleepy tones:

"What was what, Mr Pottle?"

"Why," replied Pottle, "I thought I saw--Ha! look, there it is again!
Did you not see something like a flash away off there on our starboard
beam?"

"No, sir," said Boyne, evidently a little more wide-awake, "I cannot say
I did. Probably it was lightning; we _must_ have it before long."

"Lightning!" exclaimed Pottle contemptuously; "d'ye think I don't know
lightning when I see it? No, it looked more like--by George, there it
is again!"

At the same moment one of the men forward hailed, but I could not catch
what he said for the creaking of the bulk-heads.

"Ay, ay, I saw it," answered Pottle. "What did it look like to you,
Martin?"

"I thought it looked like the flash of firearms," was the reply, which I
this time heard distinctly.

"So did I," gruffly remarked Pottle. "Depend on't, Mr Boyne, there's
something going on down there to the south'ard which ought to be looked
into. Just step down below and give Mr Lascelles a call, will ye?"

I sprang out of my cot, slipped my stockingless feet into my shoes, drew
on my jacket, and met young Boyne at the cabin door.

"Well, Mr Boyne," said I, "what is the news?