Those fellows are accustomed to these seas and can smell a typhoon coming; so, if they ran to windward in time, instead of lying-to and waiting for it, as we did, they might have got out of it altogether by keeping ahead of it." "Pooh!" ejaculated "Old Jock" contemptuously--"I've no fear of being troubled by them again.

They're all down in Davy Jones' locker by this; and may joy go with them, as I said before!" "Well, sir," said Mr Mackay, not pursuing his theory any further, and desirous of turning the conversation, if conversation it can be called when both were holding on still to the life-lines and shouting at each other more than speaking, "what are we to do now ?" "Carry-on, of course," replied "Old Jock," with a squint up at the watery moon and the flying clouds that ever and anon obscured its pale gleams, making everything look black around the moment it was hidden, "There's nothing else to be done but to let her scud before it until the gale has spent its force.

I wish we could get up some more sail, though." "Would it be safe, sir ?" "Safe!" snorted "Old Jock," sniffing with his nose up directly.

"Why, what the dickens have you got to be afraid of, man?
We're now in the open sea, with nothing in the shape of land near us for a hundred miles or more anywhere you chose to cast the lead." "But, you forget, sir," suggested the other good-humouredly, so as not to anger the "old man," who was especially touchy about his navigation; "you forget the rate the ship's going--over twelve knots ?" "No, I don't forget, Mister Mackay; and, if we were going twenty it wouldn't make the slightest difference," retorted the captain, who was thoroughly roused now, as the first mate could tell by his addressing him as "Mister," which he never did unless pretty well worked up and in a general state of temper.

"I'd have you to know I'm captain of my own ship; and when I say a thing I mean a thing! Call up the hands to try and get some more sail on her; for I'm going to make the best of this typhoon now, as it has made the best it could of me--one good turn deserves another." Of course there was no arguing with him after this; so all Mr Mackay could do was to pass the word forward for Tim Rooney, and tell him what Captain Gillespie's orders were--there was no good attempting to hail the boatswain, for not a word shouted could be heard beyond the poop.
"Begorra, it's a risky game, puttin' sail on her, sorr," said Tim meeting Mr Mackay half-way on the main-deck; "but we moight thry lettin' out a schrap more av the fores'le, if the houl lot don't fetch away." "We must try it," returned Mr Mackay.