"It seems as if it were my fault." "Not it," he said kindly.

"It was my fault, lad--mine." All this while the mist was steadily moving down upon us, and the captain was watching it with gloomy looks when his eyes were not fixed upon the schooner, which kept on gliding away.

The doctor's face, too, wore a very serious look, which impressed me more perhaps than the threatenings of the storm.

For, though I knew how terrible the hurricanes were at times, my experience had always been of them ashore, and I was profoundly ignorant of what a typhoon might be at sea.
"There," cried the captain at last, after a weary chase, "it's of no use, my lads, easy it is.

I shall make for the land and try to get inside one of the reefs, doctor, before the storm bursts." "The schooner is not sailing away now," I said eagerly.
"Not sailing, boy?
Why she's slipping away from us like--No, no: you're right, lad, she's--Pull, my lads, pull; let's get aboard.