with fifteen fathoms out"; but just at this instant arose
the regular song from the weather main-chains of "by the mark seven!"
This came so suddenly on the captain's ear that he sprang upon the
taffrail, where he could command a full view of all he wanted to see,
and then he called out in a stentorian voice:

"Heave again, sir!--be brisk, my lad!--be brisk!"

"Be-e-e-ther-r-r-dee-e-e-eep six!" followed almost as soon as the
Captain's voice had ceased.

"Ready-about," shouted Cuffe. "See all clear, gentlemen. Move lively,
men; more lively."

"And-a-a-eh half-ef-four--"

"Stand by!--What the devil are you at, sir, on that forecastle?--Are
you ready, forward?"

"All ready, sir--"

"Down with your helm--hard down at once--"

"Be-e-e-ther-r-r-dee-e-e-p nine--"

"Meet her!--up with your helm. Haul down your sheets forward--brail the
spanker--let go all the bowlines aft. So--well, there, well. She flew
round like a top; but, by Jove, we've caught her, gentlemen. Drag your
bowlines again. What's the news from the chains?"

"No bottom, sir, with fifteen fathoms out--and as good a cast, too, sir,
as we've had to-day."

"So--you're rap full--don't fall off--very well dyce" (_Anglice_,
thus)--"keep her as you are. Well, by the Lord, Griffin, that _was_ a
shave; half-four was getting to be squally in a quarter of the world
where a rock makes nothing of pouting its lips fifteen or twenty feet at
a time at a mariner. We are past it all, however, and here is the land,
trending away to the southward like a man in a consumption, fairly
under our lee. A dozen Raoul Yvards wouldn't lead me into such a d--d
scrape again!"

"The danger that is over is no longer a danger at all, sir," answered
Griffin, laughing. "Don't you think, Captain Cuffe, we might ease her
about half a point? that would be just her play; and the lugger keeps
off a little, I rather suspect, to ease her mainmast. I'm certain I saw
chips fly from it when we dosed her with those two-and-twenty pills."

"Perhaps you're right, Griffin. Ease her with the helm a little, Mr.
Yelverton. If Master Yvard stands on his present course an hour longer,
Biguglia would be too far to windward for him; and as for Bastia, that
has been out of the question from the first. There is a river called
Golo, into which he might run; and that, I rather think, is his aim.
Four hours, however, will let us into his secret."

And four intensely interesting hours were those which succ