e tarpaulin. But a few hours of it brought an increase of wind and a
fall of the barometer.

"What in d--nation does it mean, Angel?" cried the captain,
desperately. "By all laws of storms we ought to drift away from the
center."

The mate could not tell; but a voice out of the night, barely
distinguishable above the shrieking wind, answered him.

"You--all-fired--fool--don't--you--know--any--more--than--to--heave--to
--in--the--Gulf--Stream?"

Then there was the faintest disturbance in the sounds of the sea,
indicating the rushing by of a large craft.

"What!" roared Swarth. "The Gulf Stream? I've lost my reckoning. Where
am I? Ship ahoy! Where am I?"

There was no answer, and he stumbled down to the main-deck among his
men, followed by the mate.

"Draw a bucket of water, one of you," he ordered.

This was done, and he immersed his hand. The water was warm.

"Gulf-Stream," he yelled frantically, "Gulf Stream--how in h----l did we
get up here? We ought to be down near St. Helena. Angel, come here.
Let's think. We sailed by the wind on the southeast trade for--no, we
didn't. It was the northeast trade. We caught the northeast trade, and
we've circled all over the Western Ocean."

"You're a bully full-rigged navigator, you are," came the sneering,
rasping voice of Tom Plate from the crowd. "Why didn't you drop your
hook at Barbados, and give us a chance for our eyes?"

The captain lunged toward him on the reeling deck; but Tom moved on.

"Your time is coming, Tom Plate," he shouted insanely; then he climbed
to the poop, and when he had studied the situation awhile, called his
bewildered mate up to him.

"We were blown out of the north entrance o' the bay, Angel, instead of
the south, as we thought. I was fooled by the soundings. At this time
o' the year Barbados is about on the thermal equator--half-way between
the trades. This is a West India cyclone, and we're somewhere around
Hatteras. No wonder the port tack drifted us into the center. Storms
revolve against the sun north o' the line, and with the sun south of
it. Oh, I'm the two ends and the bight of a d--d fool! Wear ship!" he
added in a thundering roar.

They put the brig on the starboard tack, and took hourly soundings with
the deep-sea lead. As they hauled it in for the fourth time, the men
called that the water was cold; and on the next sounding the lead
reached bottom at ninety fathoms.

"We're inside the Stream and the hundred-fathom curve,