When Destiny knocks the first nail in the coffin of a tyrant, it is seldom long before she knocks the last.
It was the very next morning that the schooner, in the lightest of airs, was sidling gently to leeward. The mate was at the wheel, shifting his weight from foot to foot with that rhythmic motion many steersmen affect, the better to get the feel of a finicky helm; and Edward was teaching the captain’s terrier to beg, on the cabin-top. The mate shouted to him to hang on to something.
“Why?” said Edward.
“ Hang on! ” cried the mate again, spinning the wheel over as fast as he could to bring her into the wind.