“I don’t see it!  Do you expect me to get up this thing, and then take a subordinate position?” demanded Shuffles, indignantly.

“Let the members choose the captain; that’s the proper way.”

“Perhaps they will choose neither one of us.”

“Very well; I will agree to serve under any fellow who is fairly elected.”

“When shall he be chosen?” asked Shuffles, who was so sure of a majority that he was disposed to adopt the suggestion.

“When we have thirty links, say.”

“I will agree to it.”

The conspirators separated, each to obtain recruits as fast as he could.  During the latter part of the day, the gale began to subside, and at sunset its force was broken, but the sea still ran fearfully high.  The fore course was shaken out, and the ship filled away again, plunging madly into the savage waves.

On Sunday morning, the gale had entirely subsided; but the wind still came from the same quarter, and the weather was cloudy.  The sea had abated its fury, though the billows still rolled high, and the ship had an ugly motion.  During the night, the reefs had been turned out of the topsails; the jib, flying-jib, and spanker had been set, and the Young America was making a course east-south-east.

“Sail ho!” shouted one of the crew on the top-gallant forecastle, after the forenoon watch was set.

“Where away?” demanded the officer of the deck.

“Over the lee bow, sir,” was the report which came through the officers on duty.

The report created a sensation, as it always does When a sail is seen; for one who has not spent days and weeks on the broad expanse of waters, can form only an inadequate idea of the companionship which those in one ship feel for those in another, even while they are miles apart.  Though the crew of the Young America had been shut out from society only about three days, they had already begun to realize this craving for association—­this desire to see other people and be conscious of their existence.

After the severe gale through which they had just passed, this sentiment was stronger than it would have been under other circumstances.  The ocean had been lashed into unwonted fury by the mad winds.  A fierce gale had been raging for full twenty-four hours, and the tempest was suggestive of what the sailor dreads most—­shipwreck, with its long train of disaster—­suffering, privation, and death.  It was hardly possible that such a terrible storm had swept the sea without carrying down some vessels with precious freights of human life.

The Young America had safely ridden out the gale, for all that human art could do to make her safe and strong had been done without regard to expense.  No niggardly owners had built her of poor and insufficient material, or sent her to sea weakly manned and with incompetent officers.  The ship was heavily manned; eighteen or twenty men would have been deemed a sufficient crew to work her; and though her force consisted of boys, they would average more than two thirds of the muscle and skill of able-bodied seamen.