We were heading S.E., the wind, or what there was of it, upon the port-quarter. There was every promise of a calm falling again, and this I should not have minded, nor the lightning either, which might well have been the play of a passing thunderstorm, had it not been for the permanent depression of the mercury. The air was very warm, but less oppressive than it had been; the sea black and even, and the heavens with a stooping, murky aspect. It was some comfort to me, however, to look aloft, and see the amount of canvas we had taken off the ship. If we could only manage to pull up our strength again, we might still succeed in furling the main top-gallant sail, and reefing the topsail before change of weather came. The steward made his appearance with the spirits and biscuit; and Miss Robertson went below, whispering to me as she passed, that she wished to look at her father, and that she would return in a few minutes. "Now that the lady's gone, Mr. Royle," exclaimed the boatswain as soon as she had left the deck, "let's talk over our situation, and think what's to be done." The steward squatted himself on his hams like a coolie, and posed himself in an attitude of eager attention. "Quite right, bo'sun," I replied. "I have been thinking during the time we have been at work, and will tell you what my plans are. At noon yesterday--that will be fifteen hours ago--the Bermuda Islands bore as true as a hair west-half-south. We hove to with the ship's head to the norrard and westward, and made some way at that, and taking the run we have made to-night, I allow that if we head the ship west by north we shall make the islands, with anything like a breeze, some time on Monday morning." "But, if we're just off the coast of Florida," said Cornish, "why couldn't we turn to and run for the West Indie Islands?" "Which is nearest, I wonders," exclaimed the boatswain, "the West Hindie Islands or the kingdom of Jericho?" "It's 'ardly a time for jokin'," remonstrated the steward. "I don't know that I said anything funny," observed Cornish, warmly. "Well, then, wot do you mean by talking o' the West Hindie Islands?" cried the boatswain. "Wot do I mean?" retorted the other; "why, wot I says. Here we are off the coast of Floridy----" "Off the coast o' your grandmother! Shut up, mate, and let Mr. Royle speak. You know nothen about it." "The Bermudas are nearer to hand than the West Indies," I continued, not choosing to explain. "What we have to do, then, the moment we can use our legs, is to haul the ship round. How is the wind now? N.N.W. Well, she will lie properly. And as soon as ever it comes daybreak, we must run up a signal of distress, and keep it flying. What more can we do?"