psails.

"He takes it to heart," said the doctor to the boatswain.

"Yes," answered the latter, "and it's a great pity, for you may be
right, Mr. Clawbonny."

In the evening of Saturday the _Forward_ doubled the Mull of Galloway,
whose lighthouse shone to the north-east; during the night they left
the Mull of Cantyre to the north, and Cape Fair, on the coast of Ireland,
to the east. Towards three o'clock in the morning, the brig, leaving
Rathlin Island on her starboard side, disembogued by the Northern
Channel into the ocean. It was Sunday, the 8th of April, and the doctor
read some chapters of the Bible to the assembled seamen. The wind
then became a perfect hurricane, and tended to throw the brig on to
the Irish coast; she pitched, and rolled, and tossed, and if the doctor
was not seasick it was because he would not be, for nothing was easier.
At noon Cape Malinhead disappeared towards the south; it was the last
European ground that these bold sailors were to perceive, and more
than one watched it out of sight, destined never to see it again.
They were then in 55 degrees 57 minutes latitude and 7 degrees 40
minutes longitude by the Greenwich meridian.

The storm spent itself out about nine o'clock in the evening; the
_Forward_, like a good sailor, maintained her route north-west. She
showed by her behaviour during the day what her sailing capacities
were, and as the Liverpool connoisseurs had remarked, she was above
all, a sailing vessel. During the following days the _Forward_ gained
the north-west with rapidity; the wind veered round south, and the
sea had a tremendous swell on; the brig was then going along under
full sail. Some petrels and puffins came sailing over the poop; the
doctor skilfully shot one of the latter, and it fell, fortunately,
on the deck. The harpooner, Simpson, picked it up and brought it to
its owner.

"Nasty game that, Mr. Clawbonny," he said.

"It will make an excellent meal, on the contrary," said the doctor.

"You don't mean to say you are going to eat that thing?"

"And so are you, old fellow," said the doctor, laughing.

"Poh!" replied Simpson, "but it's oily and rancid, like all other
sea birds."

"Never mind!" answered the doctor, "I have a peculiar way of cooking
that game, and if you recognise it for a sea bird I'll consent never
to kill another in my life."

"Do you know how to cook, then?"

"A _savant_ ought to know how to do a little of everything."

"You'd better