chers.

"The Virgin be praised!" cried the shipman, wiping his brow. "For this
shall bell swing and candle burn when I see Southampton Water once more.
Cheerily, my hearts! Pull yarely on the bowline!"

"By my soul! I would rather have a dry death," quoth Sir Oliver.
"Though, Mort Dieu! I have eaten so many fish that it were but justice
that the fish should eat me. Now I must back to the cabin, for I have
matters there which crave my attention."

"Nay, Sir Oliver, you had best bide with us, and still show your
ensign," Sir Nigel answered; "for, if I understand the matter aright, we
have but turned from one danger to the other."

"Good Master Hawtayne," cried the boatswain, rushing aft, "the water
comes in upon us apace. The waves have driven in the sail wherewith we
strove to stop the hole." As he spoke the seamen came swarming on to the
poop and the forecastle to avoid the torrent which poured through the
huge leak into the waist. High above the roar of the wind and the clash
of the sea rose the shrill half-human cries of the horses, as they found
the water rising rapidly around them.

"Stop it from without!" cried Hawtayne, seizing the end of the wet sail
with which the gap had been plugged. "Speedily, my hearts, or we are
gone!" Swiftly they rove ropes to the corners, and then, rushing forward
to the bows, they lowered them under the keel, and drew them tight in
such a way that the sail should cover the outer face of the gap. The
force of the rush of water was checked by this obstacle, but it still
squirted plentifully from every side of it. At the sides the horses
were above the belly, and in the centre a man from the poop could scarce
touch the deck with a seven-foot spear. The cog lay lower in the water
and the waves splashed freely over the weather bulwark.

"I fear that we can scarce bide upon this tack," cried Hawtayne; "and
yet the other will drive us on the rocks."

"Might we not haul down sail and wait for better times?" suggested Sir
Nigel.

"Nay, we should drift upon the rocks. Thirty years have I been on the
sea, and never yet in greater straits. Yet we are in the hands of the
Saints."

"Of whom," cried Sir Oliver, "I look more particularly to St. James of
Compostella, who hath already befriended us this day, and on whose feast
I hereby vow that I shall eat a second carp, if he will but interpose a
second time."

The wrack had thickened to seaward, and the coast was but a blurred
line. Two va