"Well, I'll try."
And Lieutenant Tempest began singing an impromptu doggerel, which the sailors thought the most perfect poetry ever written.
"The Lively Bee will weather the storm,
Yoho! my boys! yoho!
For she's taut and trim and spick and span,
Yoho! my boys! yoho!
She'll make the British lower their rag,
And make them honor our own dear flag,
Then, boys, let not your spirits lag,
Yoho! my boys! yoho!"
With what zest they worked! The water was diminished in the hold, and the Lively Bee was weathering the storm splendidly.
But the storm was not over. It seemed as though the elements were tired and had need of a short respite, for there was a lull and the men breathed again, glad that they would get a rest.
Mike had again taken his place at the pump, Zeke and Mullen had been replaced by others, and the pumps gained on the water splendidly.
Suddenly a flash of lightning darted along the sky, making the green billows as bright as in daytime.
Like a glittering serpent it flashed across, and simultaneously the air was rent with a report so loud that the Lively Bee quivered and shook as though it had been an animate being and was afraid of the storm.
There was such a lull and awful stillness that the helmsman had no control of the Lively Bee.