He was a strange little skipper, Captain Webster, and he asked us aft with some civility, making sundry comments at the insolence of our master, who had the impudence to question his right upon the high seas. We were ushered below and not allowed to remain upon the deck in the hot sun. I saw several men who wore arms, and noticed a gun-rack at the foot of the stairway. But Webster was garrulous and took the trouble to answer no questions. He showed Miss Waters over the cabin, taking her through the forward room, where he had quite a lot of ferns and plants ranged in pots upon a sort of dais. It interested the girl very much to see a miniature greenhouse aboard a ship in mid-ocean, and she spent some time examining the plants. Garnett followed me below and announced that, if we would wait a little, we would have a side of short-ribs to take back for our pains. They were just starting to work upon a couple of hogs as we came aboard. The beer he appreciated very much indeed; as for the papers, he could tell better after he had read them.

As it is always the custom to make presents of whatever vegetables, meat, or other commodity prized by the sailor when deep-water ships are becalmed in company, we showed our appreciation by waiting. I was talking to Garnett and his mate, a tall lanky Scotchman, when a loud noise from forward caused us to listen. There were hoarse cries, deep groans, and above all a steady rush of trampling feet, which told of a desperate struggle. I looked for my charge, Miss Waters, and saw her coming through the cabin doorway, while Webster rushed for the deck. The rest of us followed without delay, and, as we reached the open air, a scene of strife met our gaze. They were after a hog of uncommon size, and the animal was making the fight of his life.

Garnett seized a belaying-pin—his favourite weapon—and his mate grabbed a bar. The next instant they were in the fracas.

Knowing Miss Waters was safe in the saloon, I made my way to the break of the poop to see the scrimmage, and as I did so the animal came racing down the deck.

The cook who had him in charge made the first pass, and ripped the skin of the animal’s neck enough to madden him, and in ten seconds the beast had broken away and was in full career on the lower deck. Men crowded after him, flung themselves upon him, stabbed, fought, and struggled, but the noble beast tore his way clear of all obstacles and dragged the entire watch into the forward cabin, smashing through doors and furniture until it looked as though a cyclone had ripped through the ship. All attempts to seize his legs and trip him were in vain. One man, clasping him boldly about the neck, was carried until scraped off against a bulkhead like a barnacle on a pile. Two men, each holding to his hind legs, were dragged the entire length of the ship amid the cheers of their comrades, who in turn seized their own legs and endeavoured to hold them back. At the turn of the cabin door a dozen more men fell upon the animal and endeavoured by sheer weight to hold him down. The captain coming down the poop steps to see the fracas was struck by the moving mass of men and hog, and he disappeared beneath them, to emerge a moment later covered with blood and glory. For ten minutes the noble animal made his fight, dodging past hatchways, through open doors, and with never less than five, and generally more than fifteen, stout seamen in his wake. Cheered on by the cook and first officer, and spurred to desperation by the curses of the thoroughly indignant captain, the men fought until their clothing was in rags and the perspiration poured from them. The modern game of football would have made a poor showing on that ship’s deck, for, in spite of all massed plays, the pig would gallantly emerge from the pile of rolling seamen, and with a steady “Hough, hough,” raised in battle-cry, charge again and again. For a long time the savage play was kept up until the men looked as though they belonged to the boarding party of a hostile ship. They finally conquered. For their hard-earned victory, the captain rewarded them with the four feet of the hero, about enough meat upon them to satisfy the ship’s cat.

In less than ten minutes afterward, we had a prime piece of pork in our small boat, along with some apples Webster had managed to save, and we were ready for the row back aboard the Arrow.

The little skipper of the Countess of Warwick came to the side and ushered Miss Waters over in a most gallant manner.

“It has given me great pleasure, madam, I might say even delight, to have had the honour of your society upon my ship. You may tell your insolent uncle that I forgive him his trespass upon me this voyage, for this is the day of all days we should be thankful that we are in no worse condition than that in which we find ourselves. I bid you farewell. It is now time that I let some of my cargo out upon the deck for an airing.”

We shoved off and started back, and in a few moments it seemed that the decks of the Warwick were crowded with men. I made no comment, for there was little use of calling the girl’s attention to their garb. The ship lay at some distance and the sun was very hot, so I let the men row slowly.

Suddenly the sunshine seemed to grow dimmer. I looked around over the calm ocean, and noticed what looked to be a sort of mist close aboard.

“Aye tank something is going to happen,” said the man rowing the bow oar. “Look, sur, at the ship.”

Turning, I saw the light canvas coming in by the run. The noise of gear sounded distinctly over the water. Then, suddenly, the mist seemed to envelop the Warwick, and as it did so there fell upon my ears a thundering thrashing of flying canvas, and I saw her heel heavily over as she disappeared in the smudge.

“White squall,” I yelled, and swung the boat’s head around to face the wind. “Hold her steady, head to it,” I cried, and at that moment a blast of wind rushed over the sea, pushing up the foam ahead of it like a wall of snow. We had just time to get the boat straightened out to meet it when it struck us.

A storm of flying water swept over us, but the men, bending all their weight to the oars, held the craft head to the wind, while with the rudder I gave what help I could. The Countess of Warwick had completely disappeared, and the rush of the wind and sea about us quickly blotted out everything save the ocean close alongside. It blew like the blast from a gun, whirling, whistling over us. Then in less than five minutes down came a deluge of water. The wind was over.

I felt a small hand grasp mine holding the tiller rope. Then I looked into the face of the girl, and her eyes met mine.

Ten minutes later the sun broke out from behind the bank with unabated vigour. The Arrow lay a mile away with some of her lighter canvas hanging from the yards.

“I wonder what uncle will say,” said Miss Waters.

“What he will say will be of small interest,” I answered. “It is more important what he will do. However, let’s hope there was little damage done and that he is still in good humour.”

“I see now why he didn’t think it any too safe,” she said.

“It was the finest squall I ever saw,” I answered, “and it has done more to make me thankful than anything that has happened to me for some years.”

“Perhaps you will enjoy the pork just as much,” she commented, but she let her gaze fall to the bottom of the boat and said no more until we were alongside.