“A ‘comber’ is the name for a large wave with a comb or crest of foam, a sort of wave over which our ship ought to have ridden; but I must tell you that it was no easy matter to meet them on this occasion, because (owing to the cross currents) the waves did not all go one way, but came at us from various points.  The sea was very heavy, and the night was very dark.  I tried the heat of the water for the last time that evening, and having bade good-night to the officer whose watch was just over, I stayed for a few minutes to talk to the officer whose watch was just beginning, before going below to go to bed.  We were standing aft, and, fortunately for us, near one of the masts, when through the darkness we saw the sloping sides of a great South Sea wave coming at the fore part of the ship, but sideways.  ‘The rigging!’ shouted the officer of the watch, and as we both clung to the ropes the wave broke on our bows, smashed the jib-boom, and swept the decks from stem to stern.”

“And if you hadn’t held on by the rigging you would have been washed away?”

“I am afraid we should, Fred, for every loose thing on deck was swept off in less than a minute.  The bull kept his feet, by the bye; but then he had four, and I have only two.”

“The bull! what bull?”

“We were taking some cattle out to Australia.  There was a bull who lived in a stable that had been made for him on deck.  When this comber broke over us it tore up the bull’s house, and carried it overboard, but I met the bull himself taking a walk at large as I went below to change my clothes and get some sleep.”

“Were you wet?”

“Drenched, my dear Maggie; but when I got to my cabin I found that there was no hope of rest for some hours.  The wave had flooded the cabins, broken in doors, and washed everything and everybody about.  So we all had to set to work to bale out water, and mop up our bed-rooms; and as the wave had also put out what lights there were, we had to work in the dark, and very uncomfortable work it was!  What the women and children did, and the poor people who were sea-sick, I hardly know.  Of course we who could keep our feet did the work.”

“Weren’t you ever sea-sick?”

“Never, I am thankful to say.”

“Not when it’s very, very rough?”

“Not in a gale.  I have once or twice on that voyage been the captain’s only companion at dinner, tied to the mast to keep myself steady, and with the sherry in one pocket and my wine-glass in another to keep them steady, and quite ashamed of my appetite, for if the sea doesn’t make you feel very ill it makes you feel very well.”

“I had no idea there were such very big waves really,” said Maggie, thoughtfully.

“I see that they are quite big enough to shelter the captain’s character, Peregrine,” said Mamma, smiling, “and I am much obliged to you for correcting my ignorance.  I don’t wish to believe that any English sailor would pass a boat in distress without giving help, if he saw it.”