banging, masts were creaking, the wind was howling; in short, Davy thought it must be a terrible storm and that they should all be lost. But the steward said to him, in passing, “It’s only a stiff breeze, youngster;” so he turned round and went to sleep again. For two days and two nights did Davy lie there—very sick! On the morning of the third day he awoke much refreshed, and felt strongly inclined to eat his blankets! As he lay wondering how he was to get down out of his hammock without breaking his neck, he heard his friend Ben Block conversing with a man in another hammock who had never been to sea before and was very, very sick.

“Oh! dear me,” sighed the sick man, “where are we now?”

“Don’t know,” answered Ben; “we’ve been drove pretty far out of our course to the nor’ard, I guess. It’s a dead calm.”

“A dead what?” said the sick man faintly.

“Why, a dead calm,” replied Ben. “When there’s no wind it’s a calm, and when there’s no motion at all, either in the air or in the water, except the swell o’ the sea, it’s a dead calm. D’ye understand?”

“Is it fine weather, Ben?” cried Davy cheerfully.

“Yes, lad, it is,” replied the sailor.

On hearing this Davy sprang, or, as the sailors call it, tumbled out of bed. He tried to get out of it; but not being used to hammocks, he was awkward and fell plump on the floor! However, he was not hurt; and throwing on his jacket, he ran up on deck.

Well might Davy’s heart leap and his voice shout at the beautiful sight that met his gaze when he reached the forecastle. The sea was like one wide beautiful mirror, in which all the clouds were clearly reflected. The sun shone brightly and glittered on the swell on which the ship rolled slowly; and the only sound that could be heard was the gentle flapping of the loose sails, now and then, against the masts.

“Have you had breakfast, youngster?” inquired the captain of the ship, laying his hand on Davy’s head.

“No, sir, not yet,” answered the boy.

“Run below, then, and get it, and after you’ve done come to me. We must put you to work now, lad, and make a sailor of you.”

The steward soon gave Davy as much food as he could eat; then he sprang up the companion ladder, and, running to the poop where the captain was, touched his cap, saying—

“I’m ready, sir.”

“Very good, my lad,” said the captain, sitting down on the skylight, or window on the deck, which gives light to the cabin below. “Do you see that little thing on top of the mainmast like a button?”

“Do you mean the truck?” said Davy.

“Oh, you know its name, do you? well, do you think you could climb up to it?”

“I’ll try,” cried Davy, springing towards the mast.

“Stay!” shouted the captain; “not so fast, boy. You’d tumble down and break your neck if you tried to climb to the truck the first time you ever went up the mast. But you may go to the ‘maintop.’ That’s where you see the lower mast joined to the top mast. Climb up by those rope ladders—the ‘shrouds,’ we call them.” Away went Davy, and was soon halfway up the shrouds; but he went too fast, and had to stop for breath. Then he came to the mass of woodwork and ropes at the head of the lower mast. Here he had great difficulty in getting on; but, being a fearless boy, he soon succeeded. The captain then called to him to go out to the end of the “yardarm.”

Yards are the huge cross beams fastened to the masts to which the sails are fixed. The “main-yard” is the largest. The mainsail is attached to it.

Davy soon crept out nearly to the end, but when he got there the yard became so small and the ropes upon it were so few and slack, that the poor boy’s courage began to fail. He looked down at the water, which seemed to be terribly far below him. At that moment the ship made a lurch or plunge, Davy lost his hold, and with a loud cry fell headlong from the yard into the