Jack and Broncho both came out of the clutches of the roller without any damage, but poor Jim's life-buoy brought him to the surface upside down, and the rolling-stone only just rescued him in time. "Lord, I thought I was a gorner!" gasped the boy, as all three in the midst of a smother of bubbling froth floated down into the calm hollow behind the breaker. "That wave does mighty near call the turn on you that time, Jim. This here is drawin' the cinch some tight, an' I ain't hankerin' after any more hurdygurdies o' that party's sturdy physique," remarked Broncho, conversing in his usual quaint, off-hand way, his gentle southern drawl in no way affected by the terrible circumstances in which he was placed, for the chances of being picked up by the Nantucket barque were very slim. As they rose to the top of the next wave, all three anxiously turned their eyes on the whaler. "Shall we reach her?" asked Jim, with trembling voice. "Drift right on to us in an hour or two. Keep your pecker up and feet down," declared Jack cheerily. "I will if I can, you bet your life," replied the plucky boy, regaining his courage at Jack's reassuring words. "Why, look! The old _Higgins_ is nearly out of sight. I expect there's hell to play on her now," he went on. "An' I ain't none sorry to quit her," drawled Broncho serenely, "that's presumin' we-alls escapes boggin' down in this here quicksand." "My God! Look out for yourself, Jack!" suddenly cried the boy in accents of horror. A huge albatross was swooping down upon the rover. These birds are the terror of a man overboard in the Southern Ocean. With their great curved beaks they attack the eyes of the castaway, who, from his position in the water, is but poorly placed for defending himself, and nearly always succumbs, his strength failing him in the unequal combat. "Your knives, boys!" sang out Jack heartily, as if this new danger were nothing much to bother about. Then with a lightning stroke he almost severed the great bird's head from its body. With a splash it struck the water, and, after one wild flurry, lay motionless, floating on the wave with its head under. "That's fine bowie-work as ever I sees," remarked Broncho. "That bird gets all he wants; he ain't askin' for more. He shore makes a sperited play, but he notes now as how he can't bluff Jack none." "Bold, vicious bird, that!" commented Jack. "One down, but there are hundreds more," groaned Jim. "Three's too many for 'em. I don't think any more will attack us, except perhaps an odd old one," declared the rover. "I corrals your remyarks with gladness, Jack," declared the cowboy; "for I was shore some dubious about the play. If they rounds up together an' charges in a mob, it's on the kyards one or other of we-alls emerges from the battle shy an eye."