Captain Crojack came on deck, accompanied by his niece. The young girl wore an old sou’wester, which had done duty for the skipper for many a year, and was wrapped in a shawl. She made a ludicrous picture, standing there at the companion hatch rigged out in those togs. “Isn’t this grand, Mr. Gore?” she cried, as I came aft to the skipper. “I do hope we will have a terrible storm. I do so want to see something exciting. It’s awful to be stuck away down there in that stuffy old cabin.” “I certainly hope we will have nothing of the kind,” I answered, rather shortly, for the idea of any one wishing for a gale was exceedingly distasteful to me, especially in the hours of the morning watch when I was hungry and half-frozen. She laughed pleasantly at my ill-humour, and begged Mr. Brown to take her forward, which the skipper, to my surprise, let him do. “Going to have a fracas before night,” said the old man; “you better see to those hatches, that they are lashed fast. She will be dry enough at both ends, but she’ll be a brute for taking water over her amidships.” I went forward and had the carpenter get out two heavy timbers to lash over the after hatch, and then saw that the fore and main were battened properly. The men eyed the third mate curiously while he helped Miss Waters on to the poop again and then joined in the work of lashing the timbers. I noticed a smile or two in the group and saw some of the fellows exchange glances. The big, burly German--the first man I had chosen in my watch, and who looked like an overgrown sculpin--made a remark to the man next to him, as they bent over the timber. I brought the end of the lashing across the fellow’s broad shoulders so heavily that he started up with an oath and faced around at me. It was only for an instant, for I held my face close to his and he caught the look of my eye while I cursed him in a low, even tone for being so slow at his work. Then he bent to it again, flashing out venomous glances at me from the corners of his little black eyes. Before going to breakfast, the skipper took in the maingallantsail, and we ragged along under topsails with the weather clew of the mainsail hauled up. Forward, the lower sails were the maintopmast-staysail, foresail, and forestaysail, and they strained away at a rate that sent the clipper flying through a perfect smother of white foam suds. O’Toole came on deck, and Brown, the skipper, and myself went to breakfast. Miss Waters came to the table, but her mother was too ill to leave her bunk. The cleats were fastened to the board to keep the dishes from slipping to leeward, and the young girl appeared to enjoy this novelty. I couldn’t help thinking how bright and rosy she looked as she steadied her plate and laughed gaily at every lurch of the racing ship.