She and Brown kept up a cheerful conversation, while the skipper and I drank our coffee in silence. Once I fancied the old man regarded his third mate a little sourly. However, he said nothing disagreeable and, after finishing his coffee, contented himself with some remarks about the weather. We were nearly through the meal when the vessel took a sudden heel to leeward. A deep, booming roar overhead, mingled with the hoarse cries of the second mate and thundering crack of flying canvas, told us plainly that something was wrong on deck. Captain Crojack jumped from his chair, letting the dish of cold beef slide to the deck, and together we made our way on deck, closely followed by the third mate. The ship, struck by a squall, was almost on her beam ends, while the main and mizzen topsails, which O’Toole had let go by the run, were thundering away at a rate that threatened to take the masts out of her. “Hard up the wheel!” bawled Crojack, as he gained the poop. “Maintopmast-stay-sail, Mr. Gore, quick!” he yelled again as I cast off the halyards and got a couple of men at the down-haul. O’Toole bawled for all hands, and, as I turned, he and a dozen men sprang into the main rigging and up they went to secure the maintopsail. Young Brown kept with the men on deck and helped wherever he could lend a hand, for, as he was stout and active, his weight on a down-haul or clewline was equal to any. The wind increased rapidly while the vessel was paying off before it, so by the time the main and mizzen upper topsails were snug, we were kept hard at it struggling with the main and fore sails. As she came slowly to, the full force of the wind could be realized, and the flying drift and spray gave the thing a nasty look to windward. The sea began to make rapidly. I took my watch below a little before two bells, while the skipper stayed on deck with the second mate. Miss Waters stood in the door of the after companionway holding to the combings of the hatch-slide. She looked a little frightened, but was apparently enjoying the ship’s plunges in spite of it. By the present outlook of things to windward, it appeared as though her wish for excitement would be fulfilled before many hours passed. Brown turned in, or rather he went below, when I did. I fancied that he did it for appearances, as there was little chance for a landsman to rest. An old sailor will never miss his watch below in bad weather if he can help it, for he never is sure of how long it will be before all hands are turned out for a fight with canvas. He will manage to get to sleep even if he is stood on his head every few minutes. But [Illustration: “MISS WATERS STOOD IN THE DOOR OF THE AFTER COMPANIONWAY.”]