The Agra had already shown great sailing qualities:  the log was hove at sundown and gave eleven knots; so that with a good breeze abaft few fore-and-aft-rigged pirates could overhaul her.  And this wind carried her swiftly past one nest of them at all events; the Ladrone Isles.  At nine P. M. all the lights were ordered out.  Mrs. Beresford had brought a novel on board, and refused to comply; the master-at-arms insisted; she threatened him with the vengeance of the Company, the premier, and the nobility and gentry of the British realm.  The master-at-arms, finding he had no chance in argument, doused the glim—­pitiable resource of a weak disputant—­then basely fled the rhetorical consequences.

The northerly breeze died out, and light variable winds baffled the ship.  It was the 6th April ere she passed the Macclesfield Bank in latitude 16.  And now they sailed for many days out of sight of land; Dodd’s chest expanded:  his main anxiety at this part of the voyage lay in the state cabin; of all the perils of the sea none shakes a sailor like fire.  He set a watch day and night on that spoiled child.

On the 1st of May they passed the great Nantuna, and got among the Bornese and Malay Islands:  at which the captain’s glass began to sweep the horizon again:  and night and day at the dizzy foretop-gallant-masthead he perched an eye.

They crossed the line in longitude 107, with a slight breeze, but soon fell into the Dolddrums.  A dead calm, and nothing to do but kill time. . . .

After lying a week like a dead log on the calm but heaving waters came a few light puffs in the upper air and inflated the topsails only:  the ship crawled southward, the crew whistling for wind.

At last, one afternoon, it began to rain, and after the rain came a gale from the eastward.  The watchful skipper saw it purple the water to windward, and ordered the topsails to be reefed and the lee ports closed.  This last order seemed an excess of precaution; but Dodd was not yet thoroughly acquainted with his ship’s qualities:  and the hard cash round his neck made him cautious.  The lee ports were closed, all but one, and that was lowered.  Mr. Grey was working a problem in his cabin, and wanted a little light and a little air, so he just dropped his port; but, not to deviate from the spirit of his captain’s instructions, he fastened a tackle to it; that he might have mechanical force to close it with should the ship lie over.

Down came the gale with a whoo, and made all crack.  The ship lay over pretty much, and the sea poured in at Mr. Grey’s port.  He applied his purchase to close it.  But though his tackle gave him the force of a dozen hands, he might as well have tried to move a mountain:  on the contrary, the tremendous sea rushed in and burst the port wide open.  Grey, after a vain struggle with its might, shrieked for help; down tumbled the nearest hands, and hauled on the tackle in vain.  Destruction was rushing