CHAPTER II.--HURRAH FOR "MERRIE ENGLAND"!
Neither Duncan nor Conal was a bad sailor, for, their father's estate being near the western sea, many a long summer's day they spent in open boats, and they sometimes went out with the herring-fishers and were heard of no more for clays.
But this was to be a voyage of more than ordinary rigours, for, as bad luck would have it, a gale of wind arose, with tremendous seas, soon after they passed Berwick.
The waves made a clean breach over the unfortunate ship, and at midnight, when the storm was at its worst, the boys were suddenly awakened by the strange rolling motion of the steamer, and they knew at once that some terrible accident had happened.
The engines had stopped, for the shaft was broken; and high over the roaring of the terrible wind they could hear the captain shouting:
"All hands on deck!"
"Hands make sail!"
It was but little sail she could carry, indeed, and that only fore-and-afters, jib and stay-sails.
The boys had a cabin all to themselves, and the companionship of honest Viking, the Newfoundland. The poor dog did not know what to make of his situation. If he thought at all, and no doubt dogs do think, he must have wondered why his masters should have forsaken their beautiful home, their wanderings over the hills still clad in crimson heather, or through the forests deep and dark, for a life like this; but to the lower animals the ways of mankind are inscrutable, just as those of a higher power are to us. We are gods to the pets we cherish, and they are content to believe in and trust us, never doubting that all is for the best. Alas! we ourselves hardly put the same trust in the good God who made us, and cares for us, as our innocent dogs do in those who own them.
"Well, Conal," said Duncan, "this is, indeed, a wild night. I wonder if we are going to Davie Jones's locker, as sailors call it?"