sailor scrambled quickly up the mast until he stood alongside Petersen. Then the two men bent low, and hauling in hand over hand, soon pulled Fred up to the yard on which they stood. They did not untie the rope from around his waist, however, but rather made the loose end of it fast around the mast so that the accident could not be repeated. A great cheer from those who had assembled below greeted the result of this work.

“I guess Fred’s awfully dizzy just now,” remarked Grant. “I don’t believe it’s much fun hanging by your heels way up there.”

“And now how are they going to get him down?” demanded Pop. “He certainly can’t do it by himself. He’d be sure to fall.”

At this moment Captain Dodge joined the three boys. “A pretty close call for our sailor friend,” he remarked grimly.

“Yes,” agreed Grant, “it certainly was. I don’t suppose he’ll want to do much climbing for quite a while now.”

“I hope not,” said the captain heartily.

“How are you going to get him down?” asked Pop.

“That’s easy,” said the captain, smiling. “We’ll take a very long rope, one that will reach all the way from the deck up to where he is and back again. We’ll tie one end around your friend and we’ll hang on to the other down here on the deck. The rope will go over the yard and he will be on one end and we will be on the other. Then we’ll lower away slowly and the first thing you know he’ll be right down here with us again.”

“And mighty glad to get here, I guess,” exclaimed Grant.

“I’ll send a man up with the rope now,” said the captain, and he started to walk away.

“Wait,” cried Grant suddenly. “What’s Fred trying to do?”

“He’s untying the ropes,” exclaimed String. “Is he crazy?”

“I guess he is,” said Pop. “It looks as if he was getting ready to climb down the way he went up.”

“Yell at him,” exclaimed String excitedly.

“Don’t you do it,” cautioned Captain Dodge quickly. “Don’t distract his attention from what he is doing for a second. It’s too late now, anyway.”

Fred now stood free and clear of the ropes. It was evident that the two men with him were arguing with him not to attempt the descent, but apparently their efforts made no impression on the daring youth, for he could be seen to shake his head. Then he gingerly lowered himself from the yard and began the perilous journey to the deck.

“Pretty nervy,” muttered Captain Dodge under his breath, and murmurs of admiration could be heard from all the members of the crew gathered nearby. No one spoke, however, for all eyes and all interest were focused on the feat Fred was performing.

Slowly and carefully he proceeded at first, but as he gained in confidence he increased the speed of his descent. Before he had covered half of the distance he was swinging along as freely and apparently as carelessly as any sailor. A moment later and he reached the deck.

“Good boy,” cried Captain Dodge, springing forward to shake hands with Fred, and at the same time a hearty cheer was given by the crew.

As soon as Fred touched foot on the deck, however, a change came over him. His face became deathly pale and he swayed dizzily. He put out his hand to save himself, but before Captain Dodge could reach him he collapsed and sank to the deck in a limp heap.

“Fainted,” remarked Grant simply.

“Well, I don’t blame him,” exclaimed Pop Sanders. “It’s the reaction from the strain probably.”

The three boys rushed to the side of their comrade and found that Grant’s surmise had been correct. Fred had fainted.

“Bring some water,” directed Captain Dodge. “He’ll be around presently.”

Fred soon opened his eyes after a few treatments of cold water, splashed directly in his face. He looked about him and smiled weakly.

“How do you feel?” asked Captain Dodge.

“Fine,” said Fred, but he didn’t look so.

“You better get in your bunk for a while,” said the captain. “That’s all you need just now. I’ll tell the cook to bring you a little hot soup.”

Leaning on Grant and George Washington Sanders, Fred made his way below. He was very weak after his ordeal and it was with a great sigh of relief that he sank into his bunk.

“What made you climb down?” demanded Pop.

“Well,” said Fred, “I just had to. I knew that if I didn’t do it then I never would have the nerve to try again. I felt so foolish to have caused all the trouble I did and I knew they’d all think me an awful landlubber. I felt as if I ought to square myself.”

“You did that all right,” said Grant heartily. “The whole crew is crazy about you now, and String and Pop and I are certainly in the shade.”

“I don’t mind that part of it,” said Pop. “All I say is, don’t do it again. I couldn’t stand another ten minutes like those.”

“And I tell you one thing,” said Grant. “It’s lucky for you that the Josephine had been brought up into the wind. If we had been tacking or beating or something like that you’d never had hung so quietly as you did.”

“Are we anchored now?” asked Fred.

“Yes,” said Grant. “We’re going to stay here until the wind changes.”

“When do you suppose that will be?”

“The captain says it’ll probably swing around to the west to-night. As soon as it does we will get under way again.”

“They can’t do it too soon to suit me,” exclaimed String. “I want to be out on the ocean, where you can’t see a bit of land in any direction.”

“That’ll happen soon enough, once we get started,” said Grant. “Then we’ll probably wish we were on shore again.”

At this moment the cook appeared with a bowl of smoking hot soup for Fred. The cook was named Sam and was as black as ebony.

“Wh’ars dat high diver?” he demanded as he entered the cabin.

“You mean me?” smiled Fred.

“I sho’ do,” said Sam. “You suttinly is some acrobat.”

“Not again, I hope,” said Fred fervently. “I hope my troubles are over.”

As a matter of fact his troubles and his companions’ had scarcely begun.

CHAPTER III
A SUPERSTITIOUS COOK

“Ah’s afraid ob dis heah boat,” said Sam as he handed the soup to Fred and settled himself on the side of the bunk opposite.

“Afraid of it?” exclaimed Fred. “Why?”

“She’s got de hoodoo,” said Sam decidedly.

“Why, Sam,” said Fred. “What do you mean by that?”

“She’s got de hoodoo, dat’s all.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because Ah feels dat way.”

“But why do you feel that way?”

“Dey’s a Jonah on board.”

“You think so?”

“Ah sho’ do,” said Sam, nodding his ebony head violently up and down. “Ah seen him come abo’d and Ah knowed right away dat we was gwine ter hab hard luck dis cruise.”

“You know who the Jonah is, then, do you?” inquired Grant, somewhat amused by the black man’s superstitions.

“Ah done tol’ you all Ah seen him come abo’d,” said Sam.

“Who is he?”

“Dat Finn.”

“What Finn?” demanded Fred. “What is his name?”

“Ah doan’ know his name, but he am de Jonah all right.”

“What does he look like?” asked Fred.

“Like all de Finns,” said Sam. “Big, wid light hair.”

“You don’t mean Mr. Johnson, the mate, do you?” said Grant.

“Suttinly not. Mr. Johnson am a Swede.”

“Who can it be, do you suppose?” asked Grant of Fred and String and Pop. The four friends were much interested in what Sam had to say.

“Dey calls him Pete,” said Sam.

“Not Petersen?” exclaimed Fred. “The man who went up the mast with me?”

“Dat’s de