The storm increased, but the brig, brought under snug canvas, rides buoyantly over seas. "Hillo, youngster, you are afraid of drowning are you?" cried old Joe Growler, as he saw Jack's eye watching the heavy seas, which came rolling up as if they would engulf the vessel. "This is nothing to what you may have to look out for, let me tell you." Jack thought the sea rough enough as it was, but he made no reply, for old Joe seldom passed him without giving him the taste of his toe or of a rope's end. The other sailors laughed and jeered at Jack. He was not, however, afraid of the heavy seas. He soon got accustomed to the look of them. He had a feeling also that God, who had put it into the heart of the negro to help him on the topgallant yard, would not desert him. The other men often reminded him of that awful name, but, alas, they used it only to blaspheme and curse. During the day the weather appeared finer, though the brig still lay hove to; but at night the wind blew fiercer and fiercer, the sea broke more wildly than ever. Towards morning a loud report was heard, as if a gun had been fired on board: the fore-topsail had been blown from the bolt-ropes. Before another sail could be set a terrific sea struck the ship, washing fore and aft. "Hold on, hold on for your lives," sung out the master. Jack grasped the main rigging, so did Sambo and others; but two men were forced from their hold by the water and carried overboard. A flash of lightning revealed their countenances full of horror and despair. A shriek--their death wail--reached his ears. Jack never forgot those pale terror-struck faces.