ishap had turned him
about. He now faced forward, and the wheelman was forgotten.

He was on the poop, and he overlooked the length of the ship. The brig
_Cohasset_ was before his eyes, as much of her as was above water.
But, as a matter of fact, and as he was later informed, he did not look
upon a brig at all; the _Cohasset_ was a brig only by virtue of
sailors' loose habits of speech. She was in truth "a rig what ye
rarely see, lad, a proper brigantine, a craft what I'll be swiggled
stiff if ye can mate 'er anyw'ere for sailing and comfort."

But nice distinctions of rig did not bother Martin on this, his first,
view of his new home. He was looking through his landsman eyes.

He saw, over the break of the poop, a sweep of deck that careened till
the lee rail dipped, and green seas lolloped aboard and swirled,
foam-flecked, aft. He saw the long jib-boom, now stabbing the leaden
sky, now plunging into the depths. He saw the pyramid of bellying
canvas on the foremast, the great foresail, the topsails, and the bare
spars above.

He saw the great boom above his head, and the vast expanse of the
mainsail, a tremendous canvas, even though reefed. He saw the
straining, board-like staysails. He heard the harsh scream of the wind
aloft, the vibrant thrumming of tautened stays, the banging of a block,
the crash of boarding seas. Grim sounds, and an outlook to daunt a
young man whose maritime experience consisted of an occasional
ferry-boat trip.

Martin was aghast. The ship was a chip in a maelstrom, lost, tossed
about, sport of those monster waves. The ticklish game of "carrying
on" was beyond Martin's present ken. He was thinking in the terms of
his favorite literature. He was awe-struck by the fury of the
elements, by the limitless expanse of upheaving waters, by the long,
white-crested seas racing down the wind. He was beholding the raging
main!

"Hello, Mr. Blake! Glad to see you about. Nice little puff we have
had for a starting boost--about blown out, I'm afraid."

The words, rich, throaty, tinged with amusement, came down the wind to
Martin's ears. Martin turned his head. Opposite him on the sloping
weather deck, regarding him with a smile, stood the girl--"Miss Ruth."

Martin stared. Had he heard aright, "little puff"? This battle of
wind and wave a little puff! And she who regarded this cataclysmic
scene with such contempt--that brave and confident figure, swaying so
easily to the deck's