the sea has her Master. She hears a voice we cannot hear. It says only
three words, Mr. Hatton, three words we cannot hear, but a great calm
follows them."

"And the three words are--?"

"_Peace! Be still_!"

Then John Hatton looked with a quick understanding into his Captain's
face, and answered with a confident smile,

"O Saxon Sailor thou hast had with thee,
The Sailor of the Lake of Galilee."

"I hope, and I believe so, sir. I have been in big storms, and _felt_
it."

"I got a glimpse of you in a flash of lightning that I shall never
forget, Captain Cook. You were standing by the wheel, tightening your
hat on your head; your feet were firm on the rolling deck, and you were
searching the thickest of the storm with a cheerful, confident face. Do
you like a storm?"

"Well, sir, smooth sea-sailing is no great pleasure. I would rather see
clouds of spray driving past swelling sails, than feel my way through a
nasty fog. Give me a sea as high as a masthead, compact as a wall, and
charging with the level swiftness of a horse regiment, and I would
rather take a ship through it, than make her cut her way through a
thick, black fog, as if she was a knife. In a storm you see what you are
doing, and where you are going, but you hev to steal and creep and sneak