“Contrary to regulation, sir,” said Jacobs, respectfully as he touched his cap to the reckless officer.

“Take yourself off, Jacobs,” replied Pelham, coarsely and rudely.

“Yes, sir.”

Jacobs did take himself off, and hastened on deck to inform Mr. Lowington of the conduct of the infatuated officer.

The principal immediately presented himself.  Pelham had fully believed, in his self-willed obstinacy, that he could look Mr. Lowington full in the face, and impudently defy him.  He found that he was mistaken.  The experience of Shuffles in the hands of the boatswain and carpenter would intrude itself upon him, and he quailed when the principal opened the door and gazed sternly into his face.

“Smoking, Mr. Pelham?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the rebel, with an attempt to be cool and impudent, which, however, was a signal failure.

“You will put out that cigar, and throw it away.”

“I will; I’ve smoked enough,” answered Pelham.

“Your light is burning, contrary to regulation.”

“The ship rolls so, I should break my neck without one,” replied Pelham, sourly.

“That is a weak plea for a sailor to make.  Mr. Pelham, I confess my surprise to find one who has done so well engaged in acts of disobedience.”

The reckless officer could make no reply; if the reproof had been given in presence of others, he would probably have retorted, prompted by a false, foolish pride to “keep even” with the principal.

“For smoking, you will lose ten marks; for lighting your lamp, ten more,” added the principal.

“You might as well send me into the steerage at once,” answered Pelham.

“If either offence is repeated, that will be done.  You will put out your light at once.”

The fourth lieutenant obeyed the order because he did not dare to disobey it; the fear of the muscular boatswain, the irons, and the brig, rather than that of immediate degradation to the steerage, operating upon his mind.  The principal went on deck; Pelham turned in, and was soon followed, without a word of comment on the events which had just transpired, by Goodwin.

The night wore away, the gale increasing in fury, and the rain pouring in torrents.  It was a true taste of a seaman’s life to those who were on deck.  At daybreak all hands were called again, to put the third reef in the topsails.  At eight bells the courses were furled.  The gale continued to increase in power during the forenoon, and by noon a tremendous sea had been stirred up.  The ship rolled almost down to her beam ends, and the crests of the waves seemed to be above the level of the main yard.

In the popular exaggerated language, “the waves ran mountain high,” which means from twenty to forty feet; perhaps, on this occasion, twenty-five feet from the trough of the sea to the crest of the billow.  Even this is a great height to be tossed up and down on the water; and to the boys of the Young America the effect was grand, if not terrific.  The deck was constantly flooded with water; additional life-lines had been stretched across from rail to rail, and every precaution taken to insure the safety of the crew.