“I’ll stand by you, my lad,” said Hirman Stubbs. “The captain may try to do you wrong, but he will have somebody else to reckon with--I won’t see you hurt.” “Thank you, Mr. Stubbs,” said Harry, heartily. “I know the value of your help already. Mr. Clinton also is willing to stand by me, though he says he don’t want to get into a fight with the captain.” “Clinton! That spindle-legged dude!” said Stubbs, exploding with laughter. “My! he couldn’t scare a fly.” Harry laughed, too. He could not help doing so. “He seems a good fellow, though not exactly a hero,” he said. “I am glad to have his good will.” “He is more of a tailor’s dummy than a man,” said Stubbs. “I always want to laugh when I look at him. Hist! there’s the captain.” Harry turned quickly toward the companionway, and saw Captain Hill set foot on the deck. A glance satisfied him that the captain was sober. CHAPTER XII A STORM Captain Hill must have observed Harry and Mr. Stubbs, but walked by them without notice, and attended to his duties, giving his orders in a sharp quick tone. He was an experienced seaman, and thoroughly fitted for the post of chief, when not under the influence of liquor. “I am glad to see that the captain is sober,” said Stubbs, in a low voice. “So am I,” answered Harry. One change, all noticed in Captain Hill. He became silent, reserved, morose. His orders were given in a quick, peremptory tone, and he seemed to cherish a grudge against all on board. Some captains add much to the pleasure of the passengers by their social and cheery manners, but whenever Captain Hill appeared, a wet blanket seemed to fall on the spirits of passengers and crew, and they conversed in an undertone, as if under restraint. Between the captain and the mate there was a great difference. Mr. Holdfast had a bluff, hearty way with him, which made him popular with all on board. As an officer, he was strict, and expected his orders to be executed promptly, but in private he was affable and agreeable. The sailors felt instinctively that he was their friend, and regarded him with attachment, while they respected his seamanship. If a vote had been taken, there was not one but would have preferred him as captain to Captain Hill. Thus far--I am speaking of a time when the Nantucket was three months out--there had been no serious storm. Rough weather there had been, and wet, disagreeable weather, but the staunch ship had easily overcome all the perils of the sea, and, with the exception of Montgomery Clinton, no one had been seriously alarmed. But one afternoon a cloud appeared in the hitherto clear sky, which would have attracted no attention from a landsman. Mr. Holdfast observed it, however, and, quietly calling the captain, directed his attention to it. “I think we are going to have a bad storm, Captain Hill,” he said. “That’s a weather breeder.”