port with tolerable
effect, stopped the gush of water; but terror had too completely
mastered the poor dominie to allow him to observe what was going
forward. He shrieked out for mercy from every saint in the calendar,
and entreated one or all of them to carry him on shore, even if it was
but to the sandy coast of Africa. "_Ah! misericordia, misericordia,
misericordia_!" was the burden of his plaint.

"_E impossible_, signor. If you do go to the bottom, heretics though we
are, you will be in very goodly company," exclaimed Tourniquet. "And
then think of the magnificent feast we shall make for the fishes. Let
that be your consolation."

But poor Signor Mezzi refused to be comforted even by such a prospect;
and even our medico himself, when he found the ship still remaining in
her unusual position, and heard the uproar going on overhead, began to
entertain some very disagreeable doubts as to the possibility of the
event to which he was alluding actually occurring, and looked very blue
about the gills; whereat little Scribble, the clerk, laughed heartily at
him, and seated himself on the table, with his feet on the side of the
ship, affirming that he was not afraid, and was as contented and happy
as ever--the truth being, not that the young donkey was a bit more brave
than the other two, but that he had not the sense to know the danger he
was in, and that not a seaman on board but saw that the next moment
might be his last. Tourniquet had not the heart to move and give
Scribble a thrashing, or he would have done so. But to return on deck.
The instant the squall struck the ship, Captain Poynder hastened from
his cabin, and, seizing his speaking-trumpet, in a calm tone issued the
necessary orders.

"Down, every youngster, from the rigging. Clue up--haul down--let fly
of all!"

It was too late. Before the words were out of his mouth, the ship was
over on her beam-ends, and lay like a log, neither sails nor rudder
having longer power over her. To describe the wild horror of the scene
would be almost impossible. The rent sails flashing and flapping in the
gale; the ropes lashing furiously, as if in an attempt to seize some one
within their deadly coils; every timber quivering and groaning; the wind
roaring; and the foam in thick sheets flying over us. Though the helm,
as I have said, was hard up, still she lay in the trough of the sea,
without a hope of once more rising.

"Send the carpenter and his crew aft,