t the time he spoke the good ship
was bending down before a stiff breeze, which caused the dark sea to
dash over her bulwarks and sweep the decks continually, while thick
clouds, the colour of pea-soup, were scudding across the sky; but
seafaring men spoke of it as a "capful of wind," and Bill's remark was
founded on the fact that, for an hour past, the gale had been
increasing, and the appearance of sea and sky was becoming more
threatening.

That night the captain stood for hours holding on to the weather-shrouds
of the mizzen-mast without uttering a word to any one, except that now
and then, at long intervals, he asked the steersman how the ship's head
lay. Dark although the sky was, it did not seem so threatening as did
the countenance of the man who commanded the vessel.

Already the ship was scudding before the wind, with only the smallest
rag of canvas hoisted, yet she rose on the great waves and plunged madly
into the hollows between with a violence that almost tore the masts out
of her. The chief-mate stood by the wheel assisting the steersman; the
crew clustered on the starboard side of the forecastle, casting uneasy
glances now at the chaos of foaming water ahead, and then at the face of
their captain, which was occasionally seen in the pale light of a stray
moonbeam. In ordinary circumstances these men would have smiled at the
storm, but they had unusual cause for anxiety at that time, for they
knew that the captain was a drunkard, and, from the short experience
they had already had of him, they feared that he was not capable of
managing the ship.

"Had we not better keep her a point more to the south'ard, sir?" said
the mate to the captain, respectfully touching his cap; "reefs are said
to be numerous here about."

"No, Mister Wilson," answered the captain, with the gruff air of a man
who assumes and asserts that he knows what he is about, and does not
want advice.

"Keep her a point to the west," he added, turning to the steersman.

There was a cry at that moment--a cry such as might have chilled the
blood in the stoutest heart--

"Rocks ahead!"

"Port! port! hard-a-port!" shouted the men. Their hoarse voices rose
above the gale, but not above the terrible roar of the surf, which now
mingled with the din of the storm.

The order was repeated by the mate, who sprang to the wheel and assisted
in obeying it. Round came the gallant ship with a magnificent sweep,
and in another moment she would