As there were nine boats all told, it meant that we should have plenty of water, and ballast as well, though there was the chance that the boat would be overloaded, what of the generous supply of other things I was taking.
While Maud was passing me the provisions and I was storing them in the boat, a sailor came on deck from the forecastle.

He stood by the weather rail for a time (we were lowering over the lee rail), and then sauntered slowly amidships, where he again paused and stood facing the wind, with his back toward us.

I could hear my heart beating as I crouched low in the boat.

Maud had sunk down upon the deck and was, I knew, lying motionless, her body in the shadow of the bulwark.

But the man never turned, and, after stretching his arms above his head and yawning audibly, he retraced his steps to the forecastle scuttle and disappeared.
A few minutes sufficed to finish the loading, and I lowered the boat into the water.