“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.” “That’s nothing,” I replied, “as doubtless he has a supply of his own; rum, I expect. We must take our chance.” Bickley nodded, and suggested that we should go on deck to see what was happening. So we went. Not a breath of wind was stirring, and even the sea seemed to be settling down a little. At least, so we judged from the motion, for we could not see either it or the sky; everything was as black as pitch. We heard the sailors, however, engaged in rigging guide ropes fore and aft, and battening down the hatches with extra tarpaulins by the light of lanterns. Also they were putting ropes round the boats and doing something to the spars and topmasts. Presently Bastin joined us, having, I suppose, finished his devotions. “Really, it is quite pleasant here,” he said. “One never knows how disagreeable so much wind is until it stops.” I lit my pipe, making no answer, and the match burned quite steadily there in the open air.