“The _Seagull’s_ all right,” he asserted. “She’ll stand a much worse knockin’ around than this, an’ be none the worse for it. You’d better all go to bed an’ try to sleep. If only we had a clear sea I’d turn in myself.” “But it is said we are drifting, Captain! A propeller we have not; a rudder we have not! We have no defense against the sea—we are impotent—helpless!” wailed De Jiminez. “Why, yes; that’s a fact,” admitted the captain. “We’re jest like a chip, floatin’ whichever way the wind blows. But you never heard of a chip sinkin’, did you?” “N—no,” was the doubting reply. “What do you mean by saying there’s not a clear sea?” asked young Alfonso. “Study yer jogerfy,” said my father gruffly. “You’ll find the South Seas specked with islands everywheres. I don’t jest know where we are at this minute, but I’ll gamble there’s islands not far away.” “Oh. Then if the ship happens to break up we can easily get to land, and perhaps save the cargo,” remarked Little Jim complacently. My father stared at him, muttered some inaudible remark and rose to return to the deck. “Must you go?” I asked. “It’s my place, Sam,” said he. “But you’ll be careful?” I never said such a thing to him before, but I had poor Dick and Billy Burke in my mind—cautious fellows, both of them—and my father had a wooden leg. “I’ll lash myself to the riggin’ when I get to it,” he returned, and disappeared up the companionway. We sat in dismal silence for a time. The wind seemed to be abating, but the waves continued their mad rolling as vigorously as ever. Finally Madam de Jiminez expressed a wish to return to her stateroom. Nux understood Spanish, for our blacks were marvels at acquiring languages and could speak half a dozen tongues; so the steward assisted the old lady to her berth and made her as comfortable as possible. After a long argument Lucia prevailed upon her mother to go to bed, and the moaning, despairing woman was led to her room. Perhaps inspired by this example Uncle Naboth decided to “turn in,” but the two De Jiminez stuck it out and remained all night in the cabin, deploring their hard luck in choicest Spanish. As much to escape their moody companionship as anything else I went to my own room and lay down upon the bunk without removing my clothing. It was then about three o’clock, and although the motion of the vessel had greatly moderated I found it no easy task to stay in my berth. Being at the mercy of the waves the _Seagull_ performed some queer antics, and once or twice I wondered if she wouldn’t “turn turtle,” so far over did the waves keel her. But, queerly enough, we get used to anything in time, and as I was much exhausted I finally fell into a doze, and then into a deep slumber. CHAPTER VI A FREAKISH SHIPWRECK Joe wakened me at early dawn, laying a wet, clammy hand in mine and jerking me to a sitting position. “Get up, Sam!” he said. “Something’s going to happen pretty quick.”