lued herself upon her sailing powers already
eighteen hours out, and headed back perpetually, like a donkey-plough.
Commander Nettlebones could not understand it, and the more impatient he
became, the less could he enter into it. The sea was nasty, and the
wind uncertain, also the tide against him; but how often had such things
combined to hinder, and yet he had made much fairer way! Fore and aft he
bestrode the planks, and cast keen eyes at everything, above, around,
or underneath, but nothing showed him anything. Nettlebones was
a Cornishman, and Cornishmen at that time had a reverent faith in
witchcraft. "Robin Lyth has bought the powers, or ancient Carroway
has done it," he said to himself, in stronger language than is now
reportable. "Old Carroway is against us, I know, from his confounded
jealousy; and this cursed delay will floor all my plans."

He deserved to have his best plans floored for such vile suspicion of
Carroway. Whatever the brave lieutenant did was loyal, faithful, and
well above-board. Against the enemy he had his plans, as every great
commander must, and he certainly did not desire to have his glory stolen
by Nettlebones. But that he would have suffered, with only a grin at the
bad luck so habitual; to do any crooked thing against it was not in his
nature. The cause of the grief of Commander Nettlebones lay far away
from Carroway; and free trade was at the bottom of it.

For now this trim and lively craft was doing herself but scanty credit,
either on or off a wind. She was like a poor cat with her tail in a gin,
which sadly obstructs her progress; even more was she like to the little
horse of wood, which sits on the edge of a table and gallops, with a
balance weight limiting his energies. None of the crew could understand
it, if they were to be believed; and the more sagacious talked of
currents and mysterious "under-tow." And sure enough it was under-tow,
the mystery of which was simple. One of the very best hands on board was
a hardy seaman from Flamborough, akin to old Robin Cockscroft, and no
stranger to his adopted son. This gallant seaman fully entered into the
value of long leverage, and he made fine use of a plug-hole which
had come to his knowledge behind his berth. It was just above the
water-line, and out of sight from deck, because the hollow of the run
was there. And long ere the lights of Scarborough died into the haze
of night, as the cutter began to cleave watery way, the sailor pa