le, and my own efforts during this long
voyage round the Cape, I'm no better than an amateur. I told you that a
youth taken fresh from college, without any previous experience of the
sea except in boats, could not be licked into shape in so short a time.
It is absurd to call me first mate of the _Sunshine_. That is in reality
Mr. Moor's position--"

"No, it isn't, Nigel, my son," interrupted the captain, firmly. "Mr.
Moor is _second_ mate. _I_ say so, an' if I, the skipper and owner o'
this brig, don't know it, I'd like to know who does! Now, look here,
lad. You've always had a bad habit of underratin' yourself an'
contradictin' your father. I'm an old salt, you know, an' I tell 'ee
that for the time you've bin at sea, an' the opportunities you've had,
you're a sort o' walkin' miracle. You're no more an ammytoor than I am,
and another voyage or two will make you quite fit to work your way all
over the ocean, an' finally to take command o' this here brig, an' let
your old father stay at home wi'--wi'--"

"With the Poetess," suggested Nigel.

"Just so--wi' the equal o' Dibdin, not to mention the other fellow. Now
it seems to me--. How's 'er head?"

The captain suddenly changed the subject here.

Nigel, who chanced to be standing next the binnacle, stooped to examine
the compass, and the flood of light from its lamp revealed a smooth but
manly and handsome face which seemed quite to harmonise with the cheery
voice that belonged to it.

"Nor'-east-and-by-east," he said.

"Are 'ee sure, lad?"

"Your doubting me, father, does not correspond with your lately
expressed opinion of my seamanship; does it?"

"Let me see," returned the captain, taking no notice of the remark, and
stooping to look at the compass with a critical eye.

The flood of light, in this case, revealed a visage in which good-nature
had evidently struggled for years against the virulent opposition of
wind and weather, and had come off victorious, though not without
evidences of the conflict. At the same time it revealed features similar
to those of the son, though somewhat rugged and red, besides being
smothered in hair.

"Vulcan must be concoctin' a new brew," he muttered, as he gazed
inquiringly over the bow, "or he's stirring up an old one."

"What d' you mean, father?"

"I mean that there's somethin' goin' on there-away--in the neighbourhood
o' Sunda Straits," answered the Captain, directing attention to that
point of the compass towards w