I
remembered that he had said sails were always blowing adrift _at night_.
I remembered the, then, unaccountable emphasis he had laid on those two
words; and remembering that, I felt suddenly afraid. For, all at once,
the absurdity had struck me of a sail--even a badly stowed one--blowing
adrift in such fine and calm weather as we were then having. I wondered
I had not seen before that there was something queer and unlikely about
the affair. Sails don't blow adrift in fine weather, with the sea calm
and the ship as steady as a rock. I moved away from the rail and went
towards Williams. He knew something, or, at least, he guessed at
something that was very much a blankness to me at that time. Up above,
the boy was climbing up, to what? That was the thing that made me feel
so frightened. Ought I to tell all I knew and guessed? And then, who
should I tell? I should only be laughed at--I--
Williams turned towards me, and spoke.
"Gawd!" he said, "it's started agen!"
"What?" I said. Though I knew what he meant.
"Them syles," he answered, and made a gesture towards the fore royal.
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