“I believe absence has really improved you, Peter,” he said.  “I haven’t been waited on so well in a long time.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Robert.

Secretly he was burning with humiliation.  It hurt his pride terribly to serve a rough sea captain in such a manner, but he had no choice and he resolved that if the chance came he would pay the debt.  When the dinner or supper, whichever it might be called, was over, he went back to the galley and cheerfully began to clear away, and to wash and wipe dishes.  Miguel gave him a compliment, saying that he had improved since their latest voyage and Robert thanked him duly.

When all the work was done he crawled into a bunk just over the cook’s and in any other situation would have fallen asleep at once.  But his nerves were on edge, and he was not sleepy in the least.  Miguel, without taking off his clothes, lay down in the bunk beneath him, and Robert soon heard him snoring.  He also heard new sounds from above, a whistle and a shriek and a roar combined that he did not recognize at first, but which a little thought told him to be a growing wind and the crash of the waves.  The schooner began to dip and rise violently.  He was dizzy for a little while, but he soon recovered.  A storm!  The knowledge gave him pleasure.  He did not know why, but he felt that it, too, contributed hope and a chance.

The roar of the storm increased, but Miguel, who had probably spent nearly all his life at sea, continued to sleep soundly.  Robert was never in his life more thoroughly awake.

He sat up in his bunk, and now and then he heard the sound of voices and of footsteps overhead, but soon they were lost entirely in the incessant shrieking of the wind and the continuous thunder of the great waves against the side of the schooner.  In truth, it was a storm, one of great fury.  He knew that the ship although stripped to the utmost, must be driving fast, but in what direction he had no idea.  He would have given much to know.

The tumult grew and by and by he heard orders shouted through a trumpet.  He could stand it no longer, and, leaping down, he seized the Portuguese by the shoulder and shook him.

“Up, Miguel,” he cried.  “A great storm is upon us!”

The cook opened his eyes sleepily, and then sprang up, a look of alarm on his face.  While the eyes of the Portuguese were filled with fear, he also seemed to be in a daze.  It was apparent to Robert that he was a heavy sleeper, and his long black hair falling about his forehead he stared wildly.  His aspect made an appeal to Robert’s sense of humor, even in those tense moments.

“My judgment tells me, Miguel,” he shouted—­he was compelled to raise his voice to a high pitch owing to the tremendous clatter overhead—­“that there is a great storm, and the schooner is in danger!  And you know, too, that your old comrade, Peter Smith, who has sailed the seas with you so long, is likely to be right in his opinions!”