"Oh, all right, sir, I can wait," growled Bob--I mean roared--for though there was a momentary cessation in the shrieking of the wind, he spoke as if Mr Denning were by the wheel; and there was no doubt now--we could not see it, nor were we likely to, through the mist and spray, but the sun was rising, and ten minutes after I was gazing at the sea, which was churned up into one chaos of foam. "It's all over!" yelled Bob, a minute or two later. "What's all over?" I asked. "The hurry-cane, sir. We're most through it, and the wind's beginning to drop." "But it's blowing terribly," I cried. "Ay, sir, it is; but 'nour ago it was blowing ten times as terrible. Why, there was a time when it most shaved my head, and another time when I put my hands up to feel if my ears was cut off. Strikes me as they would ha' gone if they hadn't been tied down with the flaps of this here sou'-wester." "Yes, it's getting lighter fast," cried Mr Denning. "But how rough the sea is!" "Ay, sir, she be a bit tossy like," said Bob; "but this here's nothing to what it is on a rocky coast. Ah, that's bad if you like." "But we've had an awful night, Bob." "Tidy, sir, tidy. Not so bad as it might ha' been." "Oh, it couldn't have been worse!" I cried. "What? Not been worse, sir? Why, where's your mainmas' gone by the board, and your fore-mast cut off at the top-mast-head, and your mizzen splintered into matchwood? Why, my lad, this arn't been nothing. And look yonder, there's the sun a-coming out, leastwise it's making the clouds look red-like. We're coming out of it well. Why, you ought to be proud, Mr Dale, o' belonging to such a ship as the Burgh Castle. She's a clipper, if ever there was one built." "I am proud of her, Bob," I said, "but I'm not proud of her crew." "Well, no, sir," said Bob, rubbing his red nose, which looked wet and shiny now; "they arn't turned out a werry good lot, but then arter all they might ha' been worse. You see it's just like having so much soup as the cook's made for you, and all as good as can be, till the cook's mate tilts the lamp aside by a-hitting it with his head, and a drop o' hyle goes into the soup. That one drop o' train-hyle spyles all the pot. See what I mean?" "That Jarette is the drop of oil?" "That's it, sir, and a werry, werry rancid drop he be." Mr Denning laughed, and I saw him turn his back to the direction in which Mr Frewen had gone. "_Tlat_!" went Bob Hampton's lips in a loud smack. "Glad when they gents come back, for I want some o' your young lady's hot coffee, bless her! to take the taste o' the hyle out o' my mouth." "You shall have it soon, Hampton, my good brave fellow," cried Mr Denning, and I saw the weak tears in his eyes, "and you tell my sister that she is to find my little silver flask, and give you some brandy in your coffee."