And now Sall wanted him to stay at home, he informed us, with her and the children, but somehow or other he could never tarry long at the hearth, for the sea pulled him like it was his mother, and the spell of the tides was on him, and he must foller even if he went to his own destruction, like them men that liquor lures to loss, or the love of mermaids.

“All land service is dead when likened to the sea,” he said, shaking his great water-dog head, and looking out lovingly upon his idol.  “But ships a’n’t like they oncst was, ladies,” he added, “before men put these here heavy iron ingines to work in ’em—­it’s like cropping a bird’s wing to make a river-boat of a ship, and a dead, dead shame to shorten sails till it looks like a young gal dressed in breeches or any other onnatural thing—­for a sailing-ship and a full-flowing petticoat always rise up in a true man’s mind together—­God bless them both, I say.”

“To which we cordially say amen, of course,” said Miss Lamarque, laughing.  “We should have been at a loss, however, Mr. Garth, but for our engine during the dead calm preceding the storm, when our ship’s sails flapped so lazily about her masts, and she rocked like a baby’s cradle without making progress.  It is well the engineer manoeuvred so successfully while we lay fireless on the low rolling waves; but we are speeding along merrily enough now, to make up for it all—­I take comfort in that—­”

“But not exactly in the right direction, though, to suit my stripe,” he said, turning his quid in his mouth as he looked out to leeward, revealing, as he did so, a fine yet rugged profile relieved against the silvery purple sheen of the moonlit sky.

“Do you see that dark object lying beyond” (our eyes mechanically followed his), “so still on the water?” and he indicated it with the pipe he held in one sinewy hand—­for the native courtesy of the man had involuntarily proffered us the homage of removing it from his lips, when we addressed him.

“Yes—­what is it? a wreck? a whale? a small volcanic island?  Do explain, Mr. Garth,” said Miss Lamarque.

“Nothing but an iceberg, and we are bearing down upon it rather too rapidly, it seems to me.”

And so speaking, he turned his wheel in silence warily.

“But you have the command of the helm, and have nothing to do but—­”

“Obey orders,” he interrupted, grimly.  “Ef the captain was to tell me to run the ship to purgatory, I’d have to do it, you know.”

“But surely the captain would not jeopardize the lives of a ship’s company, even if he likes warm latitudes, by ordering you to run foul of an iceberg; and, if he did, you certainly would not dare to obey him with the fear of God before your eyes?” remonstrated Miss Lamarque, indignantly.  “For my part I shall go to him immediately and desire him to change his course—­but after all I don’t believe that dingy black thing is an iceberg at all—­an old hencoop rather, thrown over from some merchant-ship, or a vast lump of charred wood.  You are only trying to alarm us.”