The Lilly had been ordered to proceed direct to Jamaica.  She was already in the latitude of the West Indies, and might expect to get into Port Royal in the course of six or eight days.  Hitherto the weather had been remarkably fine, though the wind had been generally light.  There was now, however, a dead calm.  The dog-vanes hung up and down, the sails every now and then giving sullen flaps against the masts, while the ship rolled slowly so slowly as scarcely to allow the movement to be perceptible from side to side.  The ocean was as smooth as the smoothest mirror, not a ripple, not the slightest cat’s-paw being perceptible on it.  Instead, however, of its usual green colour, it had become of a dead leaden hue, the whole arch of heaven being also spread with a dark grey canopy of a muddy tint.  Yet, though the sun was not seen, the heat, as the day drew on, became intense.  Dio was the only person on board who did not seem to feel it, but went about his duties as cook’s mate with as much zeal and alacrity as ever, scrubbing away at pots and pans, scraping potatoes, and singing snatches of odd nigger songs.  His monkey Queerface, brought from his last ship, just paid off on her return from the West Indies, was skipping about the fore-rigging, now hanging by his tail swinging to and fro, now descending with the purpose of attempting to carry off one of the boy’s hats, then failing, scudding hand over hand up the rigging again like lightning, chattering and spluttering as he watched the rope’s end lifted threateningly towards him, or dodging the bit of biscuit or rotten potato thrown at his head.  The watch on deck were hanging listlessly about, finding even their usual employment irksome.  A few old hands might have been seen making a grummit or pointing a rope, while the sailmaker and his crew were at work on a suite of boat-sails; here and there also a marine might have been seen cleaning his musket, but finding the barrel rather hotter to touch than was pleasant.  In truth, everywhere it was hot:  below, hotter still.  Though the sun was not shining, there was no shade; and discontented spirits kept moving about, in vain trying to find a cooler spot than the one they had left.  Old Grim did nothing but growl.

“If it’s hot out here, what will it be when we gets ashore?” he growled out.  “Why, we shall be regularly roasted or baked, and the cannibals won’t have any trouble in cooking us.  But to my mind (and I have always said it) a sailor is the most unfortunate chap alive, one day dried up in these burning latitudes, and then sent to cool his nose up among the icebergs.  It’s all very well for Dio there.  It’s his nature to like heat.  For us poor white-skinned chaps, it’s nothing but downright cruelty.”

“But I suppose that it won’t be always like this,” said Bill.  “We shall have the sun shine, and a breeze, one of these days, and go along merrily through the water.  There’s no place, that I ever heard tell of, where the sun does not shine, and though we don’t see him, he is shining as bright as ever up above the clouds, even now.  He has only got to open a way for himself through them, and we shall soon see him again.”

“As to the sun shining always, you are wrong there, young chap,” growled out old Grim.  “Up at the North Pole there, there’s a night of I don’t know how many months, when you don’t see him at all.”

“You are wrong there, Grim,” cried out Jack Windy.  “I once shipped aboard a whaler, and we were shut up all the winter in the ice, and during the time we every day caught a sight of the red head of the old sun, just popping up above the horizon to the southward, and a comfort that was, I can tell you, particularly when we saw him getting higher and higher, and knew that summer was coming back again, and that we should have the ice breaking away, and get set free once more.”

“Yes, yes!” exclaimed Bill, exultingly, “I am sure the sun shines everywhere, and though you might have got a long night in winter, you got a longer day in summer, I’ll warrant.”

“You are right there, boy,” said Jack Windy.  “For days together, in the north there, the sun never sets, and so, as you say, we have a very long day.”

“I thought so!” exclaimed Bill, quite delighted.  “Whatever else happens, God takes care to give us a right share of sunshine, and more than a right share too, if we reckon upon what we deserve.”

A portion of the crew were below, but one after the other they came up, complaining that the between-decks was more like a stew-pan or hothouse than any place they had ever before been in.  The officers also made their appearance on deck; but though they began to walk up and down as usual, one after the other they stopped and leant against the bulwarks or a gun-carriage, turning their faces round as if to catch a breath of air.  The dog-vanes, however, hung down as listlessly as ever.

“Not an air in the heavens, sir,” observed Mr Truck, the master, as Captain Trevelyan came on deck.  “I cannot make anything of the weather.”

“But I can,” exclaimed the captain, taking a hurried glance to the westward.  “What is that, do you think?”

He pointed to what seemed a long bank of driven snow rising out of the horizon.  It extended nearly half-way round the horizon, every instant getting higher and higher.

“All hands shorten sail!” shouted the captain.  “Up aloft, there!  Lay out, haul down!”

The words produced a magical effect.  In a minute, the listless crew were all activity and life.  Up the rigging they swarmed like bees, some throwing themselves into the tops, others ascending the topgallant yards, and running out to either yard-arm, till every part of the ship swarmed with life, those on deck pulling and hauling with might and main, the officers assisting, every idler putting a hand to a rope.  The topsails were quickly clewed up and furled, the other sails were handed, but scarcely were the men off the yards, than the high bank of foam approached the ship.  There was a loud rushing, roaring noise.

“Down for your lives!” shouted the captain.

“Down for your lives, my lads,” repeated the lieutenants; and though the helm was put up, and the fore-topmast staysail hoisted, the wind, striking the tall ship, drove her down before it.  Over she heeled.  Down, down she went.  It seemed as if she was never to rise again.  The bravest held their breath.  Many a cheek turned pale with fear.  The captain waved his hand to the carpenter and his mates.

“Axes!” he shouted.  They knew what that meant.

“I knew it would be so,” growled old Grim who was standing near Bill, holding on to the weather bulwarks.  “First a calm, to dry the sap out of a fellow’s bones, and then a gale, to blow his teeth down his throat.”

“But there may be a calm again or a fair breeze, and the sun will shine out bright and clear,” answered Bill, who, however, felt more inclined to think that his last day had come, than he had ever been before.  As he looked out, there was the sea, hitherto so smooth, now leaping and raging, and covered with seething foam, the spoon-drift flying in vast sheets of white, from top to top of its broken summits, while huge watery mountains seemed about to burst over the deck.  Still, he knew very well that sailors had to expect rough seas as well as smooth, and that many a ship had been in a worse predicament and had escaped.  As the captain cried out “axes,” the carpenter and his men sprang aft, with their shining weapons in their hands.  Just then the ship gave a bound, it seemed like a race-horse darting forward.  Up she rose, her head springing round, and feeling the power of the helm, away she flew before the hurricane.

“Square away the fore-yards!” shouted the captain (the after-yards had already been squared).  The ship’s company saw that the immediate danger was passed, and once more, fore and aft, all hands breathed freely.

“The sun will soon be shining out!” exclaimed Bill cheerily, within old Grim’s hearing.

“Don’t be too sure of that, boy,” growled out the latter.  “We shall be broaching to, maybe, before long, and be in a worse case than we were just now.  I have heard of a ship doing that, running under bare poles, and getting every soul of her crew washed off her deck, except three the black cook, the caulker’s mate, and the captain’s steward and a pretty job they had to find their way into port, seeing that neither of them knew anything of navigation, or seamanship either, for that matter; and I should like to know whose case you would be in, Sunshine Bill, if you were left with Dio and Ned Farring, aboard this craft?”

“All I can say is, I hope we should do our best, and trust to Providence,” answered Bill.  “I have never heard that a man can do more than that, and that’s what I hope I shall always do, as long as I have life.”

On went the Lilly before the still increasing hurricane.  The topgallant masts were struck, and topmasts housed, the yards secured by rolling tackles, and the ship made as snug as she could be.  This was done not a bit too soon, for it was evident that she was about to encounter one of the fiercest of West Indian hurricanes, such as have sent many a stout ship to the bottom.