It was difficult to converse further, for the wind was now whistling through the rigging, driving the rain in sheets across the deck. All had to hold fast for fear of being swept overboard. On every side the sea was lashing itself into a foam and the waves were growing higher and higher. At one instant the Columbia would seem to be riding on top of a mountain, the next she would sink down and down into the trough of the sea.
"Well, Larry, how do you like this?" questioned Captain Ponsberry, as he took a position beside the second mate.
"Oh, I don't mind it at all," was the cheery answer. "I used to mind the storms, but I've got used to them."
"This isn't a plaything we are getting."
"Oh, I know that—you can see it by the way the wind is driving us. But we are not near any land, are we?"
"No."
"Then we'll be sure to outride it. I feel I can bank on the old Columbia for almost anything."
At this Captain Ponsberry laid an affectionate hand on his second mate's shoulder.
"Reckon you love the old craft about as well as I do," he said.
"I don't know about that—you've been on board so many more years than myself. But to me she is a second home."