atinicus. These Jim tossed into the stern. Taking
the tub, he crept forward. A lanyard of six-thread manila, put across
double between holes in the top of its sides, formed a rope bridle or
bail. To the middle of this bail Jim tied the thirty-foot painter with a
clove hitch. Then he dropped the tub over the bow.

"Pull in your oar, Perce!" he called out.

Percy obeyed gladly. A heavy sea struck the dory. She reared, shot back,
and started to swing sidewise. Then the "drug" caught her, and she
seesawed again up into the wind and rode springily.

The tub, filled with water, and drifting on its side thirty feet before
the bow at the end of the straightened-out painter, formed a floating
anchor, which held the dory head to the wind and sea. Practically
submerged, and offering the gale no surface to get hold of, it moved
much more slowly than the high-sided boat, and so retarded its course.

Jim came crawling aft again.

"Guess that'll hold her!" he exclaimed. "I've strengthened the lanyard
with some ground-line, and it ought to last us through the night. We'll
be as snug as if we were in Sprowl's Cove, hey, Perce?"

Percy could hardly agree with him. The roaring, rain-shot blackness,
roofed with murky clouds and floored with rushing surges, was not
calculated to inspire confidence in a landsman. With every sea the dory
leaped back several feet, until the straightened painter brought her up.
Showers of spray flew over the boys. It was well both were clad in
oilskins.

They were not entirely without light. The water was firing. Every
breaking wave dissolved in phosphorescence. The tub before the bow was
outlined in radiance; the whipping painter was transmuted to a rope of
silver; and as the dory split the crashing rollers they streamed away in
sparkles of ghostly flame. Even in their peril the boys could not help
appreciating the weird beauty of the display.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" said Percy. "Say, Jim, how far south's the
nearest land?"

"Somewhere around two thousand miles, I guess. Too far to interest us
any. I think it's one of the West Indies."

The wind was growing stronger, the sea rougher. Now and then a young
flood set both boys bailing, Jim with the bucket, Percy with the scoop.

"Won't do to let it gain too much on us," remarked Jim. "She can't sink;
but if she should fill it'd be pretty uncomfortable."

The rain had ceased; the clouds did not hang so low. Suddenly Percy gave
a whoop of joy.

"Loo