"If you don't mind, sir, night'll be comin' on soon and I think we'd
better make sail."

"Make sail?" I murmured blankly. "How?"

"The bedding, sir," said Triplett.

"Of course!" I cried. "All hands abaft to make sail."

How we knotted our sheets and blankets together to fashion a rough
main-sail would be a tedious recital, for it was slow work. Our combined
efforts made, I should say, about eight knots an hour but half of them
pulled out at the least provocation. We persevered, however, and finally
completed our task. Nor were we an instant too soon, for just as we
had succeeded in getting the oars to stand upright and were anxiously
watching our well-worn army blankets belly out with the steady trade
wind, the sun, which for the last hour had hung above the horizon,
suddenly fell into the sea and night was upon us.

"There's that," said Whinney quietly.

Thus we slid through the velvet night with the Double Cross hanging
low, sou'west by south.

It must have been about an hour before dawn that a shiver of expectancy
thrilled us unanimously.

"Did you hear that, sir?" said Captain Triplett in a low tone.

"No ... what was it?"