"To which we cordially say amen, of course," said Miss Lamarque,
laughing. "We should have been at a loss, however, Mr. Garth, but for
our engine during the dead calm preceding the storm, when our ship's
sails flapped so lazily about her masts, and she rocked like a baby's
cradle without making progress. It is well the engineer manoeuvred so
successfully while we lay fireless on the low rolling waves; but we are
speeding along merrily enough now, to make up for it all--I take comfort
in that--"

"But not exactly in the right direction, though, to suit my stripe," he
said, turning his quid in his mouth us he looked out to leeward,
revealing, as he did so, a fine yet rugged profile relieved against the
silvery purple sheen of the moonlit sky.

"Do you see that dark object lying beyond" (our eyes mechanically
followed his), "so still on the water?" and he indicated it with the
pipe he held in one sinewy hand--for the native courtesy of the man had
involuntarily proffered us the homage of removing it from his lips, when
we addressed him.

"Yes--what is it? a wreck? a whale? a small volcanic island? Do explain,
Mr. Garth," said Miss Lamarque.

"Nothing but an iceberg, and we are bearing down upon it rather too
rapidly, it seems to me."

And so speaking, he turned his wheel in silence warily.

"But you have the command of the helm, and have nothing to do but--"