He remained but a moment, or two, and then hurried back on deck.
Suddenly a gust of wind blew in through the port, and it began to rain gently, but in huge drops.

Far away was the rumble of thunder, echoing across the open sea.

The storm was evidently coming up slowly from the east, as all the western sky was clear, and streaked with golden red.
Then a sailor--I thought he was Peters, but could not tell--came shuffling down the companion stairs, his oilskins rustling, and pounded on the second mate's door.
"All hands, Mr.Broussard!" There was a muffled response, and the Creole, buttoning his jacket as he passed, followed the other on deck.

A moment later I heard the slow throb of the engines, and glanced out to note the shore-line slipping past into the gloom.

The _Sea Gull_ was under way..