"'The lover (that's you, Morley) may talk of his flames and his darts, His judgment of eyes and his conquest of hearts; May smile with the wanton, and sport with the gay, Enjoy when he can and desert when he may; Yet the warmest adherents of love must deplore That its favours when tasted are favours no more; Then how can such joys with his ecstasy vie, Who always is drinking, yet always is dry?'" As Tom concluded (he was not a bit of a toper, as we shall show ere long, though he sang so bacchanalian a ditty), the sunlight died away, the cabin became gloomy, the rolling of the ship and the noise on deck increased. "The gale freshens," said he, "and the glass is falling fast. We shall have the wind blowing great guns to-night, so we must close our shutters, as I once heard a lubber call them. Don't you remember, Mr. de Vavasour Spout, the Cockney supercargo? Steward, pass the word to Mr. Morrison to have the dead lights shipped. I must be off to the deck, Morley, and have some more cloth taken off her--send down the topgallant yards, get the lumber out of the tops, and bend the trysail aft." Morley was too feeble to leave his berth for that night, especially as the _Princess_ encountered a heavy gale of wind. He could slumber, but his dreams were wild, and disturbed by starts, visions, and memories of all he had undergone; and every thought of Acton Chine and its horrors caused a shudder to pass through his frame. CHAPTER XVI. UNDER THE TROPIC OF CAPRICORN. Next morning, when Morley ventured up, everything was dripping wet; on deck and aloft all bore cheerless evidence of a rough night that had passed. The _Princess_ had but little canvas spread, for the sea was rising still; the fore, main, and mizzen topsails were taken off her, and ere long she was speeding before the wind and sea under a close-reefed foresail and storm staysail. Morrison, one of the most powerful men on board, with another grim old seaman, named Noah Gawthrop, whose weather-beaten visage resembled nothing on land or sea but a knot on a gnarled oak tree, were at the wheel, and it was with the utmost difficulty they could keep the helm, so heavily did breaker after breaker poop the ship. Though heavy, the wind was fair for the _Princess_, but it bore her away from the shores of Britain, was Morley's first and regretful idea. No other craft was in sight, and the gray sky imparted an opaque tint to the dark and tumbling sea, which seemed to follow her brine-dripping sides, as swiftly she darted on, at times cleaving asunder, or riding across, the long rolling mountains of water that burst in hissing showers over the varnished bowsprit and gilded catheads, over the iron windlass and forecastle bitts, and after drenching the cowering watch, poured away through the scuppers to leeward as the buoyant ship rose on each successive wave, like a gallant sea-bird trussing her pinions.