him. Caradoc was still explaining the theory of St. Elmo's fire to the listening men. Madden broke in on it.
“Fellows,” he called, “Greer and I are going to row over there. We'll let you know what we find.”
Amid warning protests the two climbed down the ladder for the small boat.
“I wouldn't do it, sir.” “Leckricity's liable to strike you, sir.” “There's a storm comin', sir, and you won't get back, like th' mate did.” “You can see just as well from 'ere.”
But the two clambered into the half-seen dinghy and pushed off. The moment they dipped oars into water, the mystery was partially explained. Every stroke they made created bright phosphorescent rings in the lifeless sea. Their blades drove through the water in a flame. The navvies cried out at this phenomenon. A sufficient disturbance of the sea beyond the schooner would almost explain the strange light dancing through the rigging. But what made that disturbance?
Reflections of the shining spars made a wavering path over the weed-strewn water, and up
