It looked like a line of white approaching through the gloom.

With it came a hissing sound, and although there was still no wind, the rigging began to moan mysteriously like a thing in pain.

A big drop of water also fell from the sides into my pipe and put it out.

Then one of the sailors cried in a hoarse voice: "Get down below, governors, unless you want to go out to sea!" "Why ?" inquired Bastin.
"Why?
Becos the 'urricane is coming, that's all.

Coming as though the devil had kicked it out of 'ell." Bastin seemed inclined to remonstrate at this sort of language, but we pushed him down the companion and followed, propelling the spaniel Tommy in front of us.