"Another figger o' speech, sir, that's all. Well, as I was a-sayin',
on a sudden, lo and be'old! the breeze drops dead. Ef you'll believe
me, sir, 'twas calm as the Sar'gossa Sea. So there we was stuck--the
sail not so much as flappin'--for the best part o' two hour; at the
end o' which time (Joe not bein' a convussational man beyond sayin'
'thankye' when he got hes vittles) I was gettin' a bit dumb-foundered
for topicks to talk 'pon. 'Cos, as for the weather, there 'twas,
an', as Joe remarked, 'twasn' going to move any more for our
discussin' of et, nor yet cussin' for that matter."

"I see."

"Well, sir, we was driven at last to singin' a hymn to keep our
speerits up. Leastways, the boy an' me sang, an' Joe beat time.
Then says Joe, 'Look 'ere, I'm a-goin' to allee-couchee ef et lasts
like this.' 'Well,' I says, for I was gettin' desprit, 'have 'ee ever
tried to make poetry?' 'No,' says he, 'can't say I have.' 'Well,' I
says, 'I've oft'n wanted to. Let's ha' a shy. You go aft and think
of a verse, an' I'll go forra'd an' make another, an' then us'll see
which sounds best.' 'Done,' says he, an' off he goes.

"Well, I sits there for mor'n an hour, thinkin' hard, and terrable
work I found et. At last Joe shouts across, 'Hav'ee done?
Time's up'; and I told 'un I'd done purty middlin'. So us stepped
amidships, and spoke out what us had made."

Caleb made a long pause.

"I should like to hear the verses, if you remember them," said Mr.
Fogo.