"It are gone," said the Old Sailor, "an' it 'ain't took nothin' with 't 'ceptin' wind an' water."
"Do they ever take anything else with them?" asked George.
"W'ich the same they do," answered the Old Sailor; "an' wot they takes ain't never come back but oncet, as I knows on. I knowed we'd see some on 'em to-day; 'cos w'y, this are the kind o' day wot breeds 'em, an' it are the werry identical kind o' day wot it all happened on."
So saying, the Old Sailor sat down on the end of the pier, and the boys seated themselves beside him.
"This 'ere yarn wot I'm a goin' fur to tell ye," began the Old Sailor, "are a most ser'ous tale, an' I hopes as how 't won't go fur to give ye no nightmare. I were fust mate o' the barkentine Herrin' Bones, bound from Rio Janeiro to New York. She were a wall-sided hooker, with double to'-gallants, an' a werry disrepitable habit o' goin' to leeward."
"What was her cargo?" asked George.
"I allers tells ye wot the cargo were, my son, but this 'ere wessel didn't have no cargo; she were flyin' light, an' preehaps 'twould 'a' bin better ef she'd had more ballast aboard. Her Cap'n were Gawge W. Smoke, an' her second mate were a long-legged feller from New Orleans, named Pierre Crust, an' a werry crusty Pierre he were too. Waal, to git right down to the business part o' this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye, I'll say that we didn't have nothin' but fair weather an' good to'-gallant breezes till we got right up atwixt St. Thomas an' Bermooda, an' then it rained an' blowed squalls an' thunder-storms fur two days an' nights all round the compass. Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, sez he to me, sez he, 'It ain't no fittin' weather fur to be buggaluggin' round here.' An' sez I to he, sez I, 'It ain't, but here we be, an' we can't fly away,' sez I, jess like that, him bein' Cap'n an' me fust mate, an' the barkentine bein' the Herrin' Bones. But ef I'd knowed wot were a-comin', I'd never said nothin'.
"Waal, them squalls an' thunder-storms kep' a-gettin' thicker an' blacker, till byme-by the hull sky all round were jess like it were down yonder a leetle while ago. An' Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke he allowed that we'd best stand by fur water-spouts. Sure 'nuff, 'twere jess about six bells in the forenoon watch o' the second day o' this 'ere cantankerous weather, w'en the lookout sung out, 'Water-spout on the weather bow!' 'Fore we had time to look at it another hand sighted one on the lee bow, an' some one else seed one on the weather-quarter. In less 'n five minutes we sighted seven on 'em to wind'ard an' six to leeward, makin' thirteen, w'ich the same that are a werry unlucky number.
"Waal, we clapped on a leetle more sail, hopin' fur to run out o' this 'ere convention o' water-spouts. But, bless ye! ye might as well 'a' tried to git away from a express train by runnin' down the track ahead o't. They was comin' down on us at a powerful gait. W'en the biggest one were about half a mile away, we could see it whirlin' round an' round like a big wheel, an' it roared like Niagarer Falls, w'ich the same ye 'ain't never seed, but ye see pictures of 'em in your geoggerfy. Pierre Crust, our second mate, he got so skeered he jess went an' hid his head under a deck bucket. Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke he give orders to clew up the to'-gallants, so's to stop the vessel, hopin' that the spout'd pass ahead on us. But, bless ye! the bloomin', bleedin', blasted thing turned out of its course, an' kep' a-comin' right fur us.
"'We're bound for Davy Jones's locker,' sez Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, sez he. 'It are a-goin' to break right on top o' us.'