One thing more happened on that day. The breeze freshened all the afternoon till by bedtime it blew what is called a fresh gale. Captain Barlow drove his ship till she shook to her centre, not because he liked (like many sailors) to show his vessel's paces; but because he sat at his bottle too long after dinner. He was half drunk by supper time, too drunk to take the sail off her, so we drove on down Channel, trusting to the goodness of the gear. There would have been a pretty smash-up if we had had to alter our course hurriedly. As it was we were jumping like a young colt, in a welter of foam, with two men at the tiller, besides a gang on the tackles. I never knew any ship to bound about so wildly. I passed the evening after supper on deck, enjoying the splendour of that savage leaping rush down Channel, yet just a little nervous at the sight of our spars buckling under the strain. The captain was drunk before dark; we could hear him banging the table with his bottle. The mate, who was on the poop with me, kept glancing from the spars to the skylight; he was getting frightened at the gait we were going. “Young man,” he said, “d'ye know the sailor's catechism?” “No, sir,” I answered. “Well,” he said, “it's short but sweet, like a ration of rum. What is the complete duty of a sailorman? You don't know? It's this. OBEY ORDERS, IF YOU BREAK OWNERS. My orders are not to take off sail till Mr. drunken Barlow sees fit. You'll see a few happenings aloft just now if he don't see fit soon.” Just at that instant she gave a lurch which sent one of the helmsmen flying. The mate leaped to his place with an angry exclamation. “Another man to the helm,” he cried. “You, boy. Run below. Tell the captain she'll be dismasted in another five minutes.” He was in the right of it. A blind man could have told that the ship was being over-driven. I ran down, as eager as the mate to put an end to the danger. When I went below, I found the captain in my cabin, rummaging everywhere. He had flung out the contents of the lockers, my bedclothes, everything, in a jumble on the deck, which, in a drunken aimless way he was examining by the light of a couple of dip candles, stuck to the edge of the bunk. It was not a time to mind about that. “Sir,” I said, “the ship is sinking. Come on deck, sir; take the sail off. The mate says the ship is sinking.” “Eh,” said the captain furiously. “You young spy. I command this ship. What's the sail got to do with you?” He glared at me in drunken anger. “You young whelp,” he cried, grabbing me by the collar. “Where are your letters? Eh? Where've you hid your letters?”