"Yes, boys, it was some blow and believe me it is still a-kicking up good and plenty outside the Capes. I missed the worst of it. My barometer had indicated that there was going to be some big doings long before the clouds begun to loom. I was half a mind to haul to in the hook o' the Cape at Lookout, but the sky seemed so clear and I was so near Hatteras that I made up my mind that we could get into the Roads by crowding the boilers a little. I'd a heap rather be laying up close to the King's clam broth than at that sorry, lonely, Lookout Bight. Don't understand me that I have got anything against that snug little harbor. I have every reason in the world not to have for she has saved my vessel and my carcass many's the time. The only thing is that it is such a desert place on land, not a house, not a human, with the exception of the light-keeper and his crew. When a skipper makes harbor he likes it to be where there are some shore pleasures on tap. I will venture that there was not less than half a dozen skippers put in there to get away from this blow and every last one whilst they knew the fact of that little nook o' safety being there had saved him and his ship, was just a-raring because he had not taken a chance rounding Hatteras and putting into Hampton Roads where he could run in here and gossip and inhale the fumes of King Harry's clam broth and feel the effects of his Scotch, while this-here West India hurricane wore herself out. "You know, boys, I wish that I was a yachtsman with a good roll to back it up. Why, do you know them fellers take lots of chances and it's very seldom that they lose their craft? Of course, I have navigated over more of the sea than you, having been coasters all your lives. And do you know there is hardly a port in the world where I haven't seen a pretty, trim American yacht lying at anchor or haven't passed them on the seven seas? And never have I found one in great distress--except for being out o' some particular kind of liquor. With we fellers it's different. We're always in some kind o' trouble, not to mention being constantly out o' all kinds o' liquors. And then we are scairt o' our lives, or run aground or burn up, and so lose our master's papers, which means our job." The speaker paused to clear his throat noisily. Then he went on: "Speaking along these lines reminds me of a little yacht we passed on the run up, off Ocracoke Inlet. She was a long ways off shore, headed in. But I guess she made the inside all right in spite of the waves running high and breaking and the strength of the wind increasing with every flaw. Her name was _The Isabel_. And it's my opinion the captain of that yacht ought to be in the crazy house or dead."