as if he were daring the
angry sea to come on, and do its worst.

Jim, now unable to speak or act from terror, clung to the starboard
bulwarks, while Bunks stood manfully at the helm. Tommy held on to the
mainmast shrouds, and gazed earnestly and anxiously out ahead.

Thus they flew, they knew not whither, for several hours that night.

Towards morning, a little before daybreak, the gale began to moderate.
Job's mood had changed. His wild yelling fit had passed away, and he
now ranged about the decks in moody silence, like a chained tiger; going
down every now and then to drink, but never resting for a moment, and
always showing by his looks that he had his eye on Tommy Bogey.

The poor boy knew this well, and watched him intently the whole of that
terrible night.

Bunks, who had never once quitted his post, began to yawn, and suggested
to Jim that he might take a spell at the helm now, when the progress of
the schooner was suddenly arrested with a shock so violent that those on
board were hurled prostrate on the deck, the fore-topmast snapped and
went over the side, carrying the main-topmast and the jib-boom along
with it, and the sea made a clean breach over the stern, completely
sweeping the deck.

Job, who chanced to have gone down below, was hurled against the cabin
bulkhead, and the glass bottle he held to his lips was shivered to
atoms. With his face cut and bleeding he sprang up the
companion-ladder.

"On the rocks!" he shouted.

"On the sand, anyhow," answered Bunks.

"The boat! the boat! she won't last ten minutes," cried Jim.

One of the two boats belonging to the "Butterfly" had been washed away
by the last wave, the other remained in its place. To this the three
men rushed, and launched it quickly into the water. Job was first to
get into it.

"Jump in, jump in," he cried to the others, who were prompt enough to
obey.

Tommy Bogey stood motionless and silent close to the main-mast. His
face was very pale; but a stern pursing of the lips and compression of
the eyebrows showed that it was not cowardly fear that blanched his
cheek.

"The boy! the boy!" cried Bunks, as Job let go his hold of the schooner.

A wild stern laugh from Job showed that he had made up his mind to leave
Tommy to perish.

"Shame!" cried Jim, seizing one of the oars; "pull, Bunks, pull to
wind'ard a bit; we'll drop down and save him yet. Pull, you murderer!"
shouted Jim, with a burst of anger so sudden and fier