“Barometer’s gone down another tenth,” called Captain John. “That’s three-tenths since this morning.”
“Is that a lot?” asked Peggy.
“Rather a lot,” said John. “Are you ready, Roger? I’m going to blow the candle out.”
Titty had the parrot cage close beside her in the mate’s tent. She took the blue cover off. “He won’t want it now,” she said. “He’ll be in the same dark as us. Good night, Polly!”
“Pieces of eight,” rapped out the parrot, excited by the candlelight in the white tent. “Pieces of eight, pieces of eight, pieces of eight.” It went on saying “Pieces of eight,” as fast as if it were counting treasure.
Nancy Blackett’s laugh sounded from the tent at the other side of the camp.
Then Mate Susan blew out the candle lantern. There was darkness in the tent and, in the sudden silence that came with the darkness, it was as if she had blown out the parrot.
“Good night,” “Good night,” the Swallows and Amazons called to each other. Their last night on the island had begun.