out of sight.

"Yes, thank Heaven!" shouted Ishmael, flying up.

Then came a tremendous lurch of the ship.

"Oh, I must see that wave!" cried the captain, imprudently climbing
up to look out from the port-light above him.

He had scarcely attained the desired position when there came
another, an unprecedented toss of the ship, and the unlucky captain
lay sprawling on the top of the table--with one wide-flung hand deep
in the dish of mashed turnips and the other grasping the roast pig,
while his bullet head was butted into Ishmael's stomach.

"Blast the ship!" cried the discomfited old man--very unnecessarily,
since there was "blast" enough, and to spare.

"'Only a capful of wind,' captain! 'Only a capful of wind,'" said
Ishmael, in a grave, matter-of-fact way, as he carefully assisted
the veteran to rise.

"Humph! humph! humph! I might have known you would have said that.
Ha! glad none of the women are here to see me! I s'pose I've done
for the mashed turnips and roast pig; and I shouldn't wonder if I
had knocked your breath out of your body, too, sir," sputtered the
old man, trying to recover his feet, a difficult matter amid the
violent pitching of the ship.

"Oh, you've not hurt me the least," said Ishmael, still rendering