sloshing into their midst with a light breeze astern, and they
crowded on deck to see us. Nicholas and I had caught the spirit of
the crazy craft, and we handled her in most lubberly fashion.

"Wot is it?" some one called.

"Name it 'n' ye kin have it!" called another.

"I swan naow, ef it ain't the old Ark itself!" mimicked the
Centipede from the deck of the Ghost.

"Hey! Ahoy there, clipper ship!" another wag shouted. "Wot's yer
port?"

We took no notice of the joking, but acted, after the manner of
greenhorns, as though the Coal Tar Maggie required our undivided
attention. I rounded her well to windward of the Ghost, and
Nicholas ran for'ard to drop the anchor. To all appearances it was
a bungle, the way the chain tangled and kept the anchor from
reaching the bottom. And to all appearances Nicholas and I were
terribly excited as we strove to clear it. At any rate, we quite
deceived the pirates, who took huge delight in our predicament.

But the chain remained tangled, and amid all kinds of mocking
advice we drifted down upon and fouled the Ghost, whose bowsprit
poked square through our mainsail and ripped a hole in it as big as
a barn door. The Centipede and the Porpoise doubled up on the
cabin in paroxysms of laughter, and left us to get clear as best we
could. This, with much unseaman-like performance, we succeeded in
doing, and likewise in clearing the anchor-chain, of which we let