er down here, captain?" Mrs.
Renshaw asked.

"Not always, Mrs. Renshaw. The weather is generally fine, I admit, but
occasionally short but very violent gales sweep down from off the land.
They are known as pamperos; because, I suppose, they come from the
pampas. They are very dangerous from the extreme suddenness with which
they sweep down. If they are seen coming, and the vessel can be stripped
of her canvas in time, there is little danger to be apprehended, for
they are as short as they are violent."

"We have been wonderfully fortunate altogether so far," Mrs. Renshaw
said. "We have not had a single gale since we left England. I trust that
our good luck will continue to the end."

"I hope so too," the captain said. "I grant that a spell of such weather
as we have been favoured with is apt to become a little monotonous, and
I generally find my passengers have a tendency after a time to become
snappish and quarrelsome from sheer want of anything to occupy their
minds. Still I would very much rather put up with that than with the
chances of a storm."

"People must be very foolish to get out of temper because everything is
going on well," Mrs. Renshaw said. "I am sure I find it perfectly
delightful sailing on as we do."

"Then you see, madam, you are an indefatigable worker. I never see your
hands idle; but to people who do not work, a long voyage of unbroken
weather must, I can very well understand, be monotonous. Of course with
us who have duties to perform it is different. I have often heard
passengers wish for what they call a good gale, but I have never heard a
sailor who has once experienced one express such a wish. However staunch
the ship, a great gale is a most anxious time for all concerned in the
navigation of a vessel. It is, too, a time of unremitting hardship.
There is but little sleep to be had; all hands are constantly on deck,
and are continually wet to the skin. Great seas sweep over a ship, and
each man has literally his life in his hand, for he may at any moment be
torn from his hold and washed overboard, or have his limbs broken by
some spar or hen-coop or other object swept along by the sea. It always
makes me angry when I hear a passenger express a wish for a gale, in
thoughtless ignorance of what he is desiring. If a storm comes we must
face it like men; and in a good ship like the _Flying Scud_, well
trimmed and not overladen, and with plenty of sea-room, we may feel
pretty confident as to