clouds, which were borne along furiously by the gale; the sea ran
mountains high, and broke into large white foaming crests, while the
fierce wind howled through the rigging of the vessel.

Besides the captain of the ship and the two men at the wheel, there
were two other personages on deck: one was a young lad about twelve
years old, and the other a weather-beaten old seaman, whose grisly
locks were streaming in the wind, as he paced aft and looked over the
taffrail of the vessel.

The young lad, observing a heavy sea coming up to the stern of the
vessel, caught hold of the old man's arm, crying out - "Won't that
great wave come into us, Ready?"

"No, Master William, it will not: don't you see how the ship lifts her
quarters to it?--and now it has passed underneath us. But it might
happen, and then what would become of you, if I did not hold on, and
hold you on also? You would be washed overboard."

"I don't like the sea much, Ready; I wish we were safe on shore again,"
replied the lad. "Don't the waves look as if they wished to beat the
ship all to pieces?"

"Yes, they do; and they roar as if angry because they cannot bury the
vessel beneath them: but I am used to them, and with a good ship like
this, and a good captain and crew, I don't care for them."

"But sometimes ships do sink, and then everybody is drowned."

"Yes; and very often the very ships sink which those on board think are