ourses were dropped, and the flying-jib and
foresail set to drive her on her way across the Atlantic.

"I guess picking up that boy brought us luck, Seth!" said the skipper,
rubbing his hands gleefully as the mate came to his side and joined in
the quick quarter-deck he was taking, varied by an occasional look aloft
to see that everything was drawing fair. "I think we might set the
topgallants now, eh?"

"You're not a slow one at piling on the canvas, I reckon!" answered the
other with a laugh. "No sooner out of one gale than you want to get
into another. Look at those clouds there ahead, Cap'en," pointing to a
dark streak that crossed the horizon low down right in front of the
vessel. "I guess we aren't out of it yet!"

"Waal, if we've got to have another blow," replied the skipper, "we'd
better make some use of the wind we have, specially as it looks like
chopping round. What is she going now?" he asked of the quartermaster
or boatswain, one individual performing both functions in the Yankee
craft.

"Close on nine knots, Cap'en," answered the man, who had just hove the
log over the stern, and now stood, minute-glass in hand, calculating the
result.

"Nine knots with this breeze? That will never do. Away aloft there,
and shake out the topgallant sails! Now, men, stir yourselves in proper
man-o'-war's fashion; and let us see it done in ship-shape style!
That's your sort, men. Johnson shall shell out some grog presently to
splice the main brace."--He continued aloud, as the hands came down the
ratlins again without losing time, after lowering the sails,--"Now,
hoist away at the halliards. Cheerily, men! cheerily ho! The Boston
girls have got hold of our tow-rope; up with the sticks with a will!"

The _Susan Jane_ plunged through the waves with redoubled speed, leaning
over until the water foamed over her gunwale and was knee-deep in her
scuppers, an occasional billow topping over her foc's'le, and pouring
down into the waist in a cataract of gleaming green sea and sparkling
spray, all glittering with prismatic colours, like a jumble of broken
rainbows.

"What does she make now, Johnson?" asked the skipper again of the
quartermaster.

"Eleven knots, I reckon, sir, good."

"Ah, that's more like it! The poor dear thing! she was crippled without
her wings, that she was! She'll do twelve-knots yet, eh, Seth?"

"I don't doubt that, sir," replied the mate, who was much more cautious
than his captain; "