aid."

To this no one could object, and Wycherly made a bow of acknowledgment.
At that instant the barge was seen swinging off over the ship's waist,
and, at the next, the yard tackles were heard overhauling themselves.
The splash of the boat in the water followed. The crew was in her, with
oars on end, and poised boat-hooks, in another minute. The guard
presented, the boatswain piped over, the drum rolled, and Wycherly
jumped to the gangway and was out of sight quick as thought. Greenly and
Sir Gervaise followed, when the boat shoved off.

Although the seas had greatly subsided, and their combs were no longer
dangerous, the Atlantic was far from being as quiet as a lake in a
summer eventide. At the very first dash of the oars the barge rose on a
long, heavy swell that buoyed her up like a bubble, and as the water
glided from under her again, it seemed as if she was about to sink into
some cavern of the ocean. Few things give more vivid impressions of
helplessness than boats thus tossed by the waters when not in their
raging humours; for one is apt to expect better treatment than thus to
be made the plaything of the element. All, however, who have ever
floated on even the most quiet ocean, must have experienced more or less
of this helpless dependence, the stoutest boat, impelled by the lustiest
crews, appearing half the time like a feather floating in capricious
currents of the air.

The occupants of the barge, however, were too familiar with their
situation to think much of these matters; and, as soon as Sir Gervaise
assented to Wycherly's offer to take the tiller, he glanced upward, with
a critical eye, in order to scan the Plantagenet's appearance.

"That fellow, Morganic, has got a better excuse for his xebec-rig than I
had supposed, Greenly," he said, after a minute of observation. "Your
fore-top-mast is at least six inches too far forward, and I beg you will
have it stayed aft to-morrow morning, if the weather permit. None of
your Mediterranean craft for me, in the narrow seas."

"Very well, Sir Gervaise; the spar shall be righted in the morning
watch," quietly returned the captain.

"Now, there's Goodfellow, half-parson as he is; the man contrives to
keep his sticks more upright than any captain in the fleet. You never
see a spar half an inch out of its place, on board the Warspite."

"That is because her captain trims every thing by his own life, sir,"
rejoined Greenly, smiling. "Were we half as good as