I hope I have made it clear to my readers that Frank, although now barely seventeen, was a fine specimen of a young man both in physique and in morale or mind. For sheer love of his profession he had learned all that there was to learn about it as far as his opportunities went, and above all he had acquired the habit of self-reliance, which is a mighty factor in advancement at sea. For no matter how clever the man is in theory, if, when the time comes to act, he is ever looking round for some one else to rely upon, has a certain and deep-rooted distrust of himself, that man is debarred from obtaining an early command, or if he does obtain it, he generally loses it painfully soon, because he cannot trust himself.

Of course practice is essential to prove theory, however certain we may be of the theory, and Frank as yet had only been able to prove his learning in minor things, such as his boat-handling, his steering, his watching the trimming of the sails, and comparing his working of the ship’s position with the skipper’s when he and Johnson had been allowed to take and work up observations of the sun, moon, and stars. But in spite of his limitations he was far above the average of his years; he already had that steadfast outlook upon the world of his profession, that fearless grasp of its details that go to make up the complete seaman even in these so-called degenerate days, when conditions have so changed that we may, and do, find men of the highest education and refinement in charge of our merchant ships, and especially steamships.

However, I must not now spend more space in describing Frank’s mental and physical condition, as I need to get on with the consequences of their high development. The Sealark rolled comfortably along up the pleasant stretches of the south-east Trades, with all hands busily engaged in the commonplace duties of painters and house-decorators.

It was an easy, happy time. Captain Jenkins was far too genuine a man, and also far too just, to keep his men out of their honest watch and watch in the senseless Yankee custom. He hated the sight of those dazzlingly white bulwarks, shining black topsides, and glistening spars, knowing how much human agony it represented of absolutely useless and grotesque brutality practised by armed, well-fed officers, upon cowed, bruised, and demoralised men, such as was the rule in the “smart Yankee fliers.” So all hands were happy, cleansed and painted the white work, scraped and varnished the bright work, and did all those minor things that go to make a ship look beautiful, with a meticulous care and pride in her appearance that was quite absurd when you come to look at it, since probably not one of those poor sailors would be in her again either next voyage or afterwards.She glided by St. Helena with its many memories; by Ascension, that naval rock which is borne upon the books of the Admiralty as if it were a man-of-war; on, on, gently, certainly, and almost unknowingly across the line until, in 7° N., the faithful south-east wind faltered at last and left them to wallow in calms for a day or two, watching the dank sea-grass on her bottom spread like a dead woman’s hair as she rolled listlessly on the oily swell. There was little really left to do by this time in the decoration and smartening of the ship internally—that is to say, on deck and aloft, but outside she looked rusty and unkempt, and Mr. Cope cast longing eyes upon his pots of black paint, imagining how splendid a thing it would be if he could only complete his work by spreading them upon her outside. For although it may sound trivial to the ordinary reader, the appearance of his ship to others is a very serious, and, in fact, an all-important matter in the eyes of a good seaman. And when you come to consider it, rightly so, for it reveals the character of those who have had charge of her.

But before anything could be done in the matter of external painting, the pleasant north-easterly breeze, the first breath of the Trades, came down upon them, freshened, and in three or four hours from their first feeling it they were bowling merrily along on the starboard tack “full and bye” for New York. The easy home stretch of their voyage, unless indeed they met with abnormal weather in the Gulf Stream, had begun. Frank was already looking forward with pleasurable anticipation to his visit to America’s greatest city, the second greatest in the world, and half wondering to himself how it was that he did not feel annoyance at the thought that he was not bound home direct, as Johnson did.

The latter young man was dragged on by the sheer force of Frank’s example, but, as he often said, he had no real love for the profession, and if a chance offered as soon as he was out of his time, he would be content with a very subordinate position ashore rather than ever go to sea as a sailor again. He, like so many others, had discovered too late that he had made a leap in the dark, had mistaken his vocation, could take no pride in his calling despite its many disabilities, difficulties, and dangers, and consequently would never make a good sailor, and would only swell the ranks of the passable and disappointed ones.

The days now sped rapidly on as the ship, with every stitch set and drawing, made splendid progress across the Trades, with the wind steadily strengthening as she made northing. But she was barely clear of the tropics when the weight of the wind increased so much that they were fain to reduce sail, much to Captain Jenkins’ disgust, the wind being nearly due east, and consequently allowing him to make his course good going free. He hung on as long as he could, but was gradually compelled to shorten down until the Sealark was tumbling about in a most tremendous sea, hove to under a patch of tarpaulin in the mizzen rigging; and Frank, vivid as were his recollections of the cyclone, felt as if he had never till now realised the deep, steadfast malignity of wind at the height of its power. For it was not squally, its force was persistent, massive, terrible, having in its roar a note of doom.

But yet there was an amelioration of the conditions as compared with the lurid horrors of the cyclone. It was light, and often the sky was quite clear until, with a speed that was appalling to witness, a mass of cumulous cloud would hurtle across the ether, torn into a thousand fantastic shapes in its passage. And rage the gale never so furiously, rise the sea never so high, the tiny pretty petrels, Mother Carey’s chickens, still flitted unconcernedly over the mighty corrugations of the deep, even nestling to all appearance in the most perfect confidence under the over-curling head of some awful billow as if it were a shelter from the fury of the storm. And though I suppose he should by this time have lost such a boyish illusion (alas that we should ever lose them), he could not help feeling a renewed confidence in the successful issue of the great fight between ship and sea on witnessing the easeful security manifested by those wee birds.

Three days that gale blew, then died away to a gentle series of “cat’s paws,” which failed to steady the ship in the still gigantic upheavals of the so lately tormented deep. One other vessel was in company with them some five miles distant, and as she was behaving strangely to a seaman’s eye, backing and filling and manifesting all the motions of an unmanageable vessel, Captain Jenkins used all his endeavours to get nearer to her. But owing to the lightness and variableness of the wind he was only able to approach sufficiently close by nightfall to make sure that from some cause or another she was really at the mercy of wind and wave. Her masts were intact, and so were the yards, but from them there dangled long streamers as of sails blown away and running gear flying adrift. She was a barque of apparently the same size as themselves, and setting fairly deep in the water, in great contrast to the Sealark, which being loaded with hemp was in excellent trim, not down to her marks by a long way.

A very careful watch was kept on her all night, during which the weather was almost perfectly calm. But now and then a light air would come along, which was utilised immediately to get nearer to this mysterious ship, and with such good effect that about two hours before daylight they were almost within hailing distance of her. She showed no sign of life in response to repeated shoutings through a speaking-trumpet, nor was there a light visible anywhere on board of her. Intense curiosity was manifested by all hands in the mystery, so much so that the watch going below at 4 A.M. could not sleep, but sat anxiously awaiting the dawn.

This, however, must not be put down to any philanthropic desire to save life or to assist distressed fellow-seamen, ready as they all would have been to do their utmost in such a cause, but because every man on board was imbued with the idea that she was a derelict, or an abandoned vessel, still manageable and likely to afford her salvors a rich reward. Such golden prizes are, of course, far more usually the prey of the steamboat man, for obvious reasons, but still the sailing-ship men do occasionally get a look in, and the present encounter promised well at any rate.

At last the glorious dawn flushed the whole sky with rosy light, the great sun leaped into the firmament, and the lonely barque was fully revealed in all her pathos of abandonment only about five hundred yards away. There is no inanimate object in the world that seems to demand our sympathy so imperatively as a deserted ship at sea. She is so helpless, all her powers are so utterly unavailable, she is a gigantic, unburied corpse, terrible, obstructive, dangerous, yet full of deprecation, as if she would implore the crowning mercy of destruction before she has become potent for harm to her still man-energised sisters passing by. And this ship was of the saddest class, for she had obviously been abandoned so short a time ago, most probably in the very last gale; everything about her except the shreds of her destroyed, wind-riven sails dangled from yards and stays, and entangled in the rigging seemed to ask piteously why she had thus been left to encounter the ocean unaided, unguided, alone.

No sooner had she become fully visible in all her pathetic helplessness than the captain gave orders to get the boat out, an order which was obeyed with the utmost alacrity, so much so that one might have imagined it to be a matter of life and death. As soon as she was in the water, the skipper and four hands went off to the derelict, passing under her stern and noting her name, the Woden of Stavanger. She was manifestly an English-built vessel of the best type, composite, that is, with an iron frame and hardwood skin, with wonderfully good-looking rigging, not at all neglected-looking; indeed she appeared to have only recently changed hands, as the word “London” was plainly visible under Stavanger, and she had not yet shipped a windmill pump, the distinguishing mark of all Norwegian and Swedish sailing vessels.

The derelict.

The skipper climbed briskly on board by the aid of one of the loose ends which trailed over the side, and looking about him was struck with the small amount of damage which appeared to have been done to her. True, several panels of the house on deck were smashed in, the front of the full poop was also damaged, and she looked as if her decks had been swept continuously by heavy seas for a long time, but she was very far from presenting the appearance of the usual derelict ship. Finally, and presenting the most puzzling problem of all, her three boats, obviously all she carried, were in their places on the skids, the biggest of them having her bottom stove completely in as if by a gigantic sea.

Below, or in the cabin, there were the usual poor signs of occupation common to Scandinavian ships, which are never given to luxury in any form, and from the presence of food in a still eatable condition, it was certain that she had not been abandoned for a longer period than two or three days. The men’s quarters confirmed the idea, there was nothing alive on board except the rats, although how or why the crew had gone was a profound mystery. Finding the sounding-rod, the skipper tried the well. There was a depth of four feet of water in her, which afforded no reason why she should have been left.

After a few moments of intense thought, Captain Jenkins made up his mind what to do, and with an air of relief went straight to the captain’s cabin, noted that the chronometer, an eight-day one, was still going, and finding the ship’s papers, saw that she was from Tonala, Mexico, bound to London with a cargo of mahogany. A shade of wonder crossed his mind as to why she had none of it on deck, as is usual, but that was so trifling a matter as compared with the main problem that he did no more than note it. Then, jumping into the boat, he returned to the Sealark.

As soon as he reached the deck of his own ship he called his two officers to him and said, “Now, here’s a prize worth making a big effort to secure. I think we can, and we ought, to secure it, if we have anything like decent luck. It’s not too late in the year to expect middling fine weather, in spite of that tremendous snorter of a gale we had the other day. I propose that you, Jacks, take charge of her with your watch of white men, if they’ll go, that is, and make the best of your way home with her to London. We’ll work our way under easy canvas with the Lascars to New York. What do you think?”

Seeing that Mr. Cope remained silent with a somewhat discontented look on his face, the second mate replied, “I’m ready and glad of the chance, if you can spare me that youngster, Frank. I’ve watched him carefully for a long time now, and I feel sure that he can be trusted to keep a watch, and as for navigation, I’ve found that he’s a jolly sight better at it than I am.”

“Ah,” murmured the skipper, “that wants thinking about. However, we’ll call ’em all aft and see. Mr. Jacks, call all the white men aft, there is a Lascar at the wheel.”

The order was given and obeyed with exceeding promptness, all the white men striding up to the quarter-deck, and the four lads gazing wistfully in the background.

“Now, men,” said the skipper quietly, “there’s a ship and cargo there that’s worth, at the lowest estimate, £15,000. And if we can get her safely to her port, which is London, since her own crew has entirely disappeared, we’ll get two-thirds of her value as salvage, say £10,000, which will mean more money than we could earn in several years of hard work. It will be a big job and a hard job for you white chaps, only six or seven of you altogether with Mr. Jacks here, to get her to London, but its like has been done before, indeed harder jobs than this. Anyhow, if you are willing to take this job on, I am willing to risk getting our own ship to New York with Mr. Cope, the bo’sun, the carpenter, and the Lascars. You can take the cook, too, if he’ll go. What do you say?”

There was not the slightest ambiguity about their answer. In fact their eagerness was almost pathetic to witness. For the average sailor in ships of the Sealark type welcomes almost anything as a relief to the monotony of his life, a monotony that would not exist to a thoughtful, observant man with books to read and facilities for reading them, but does certainly press with iron ruthlessness upon most men of the sea during long passages.

“All right,” responded the skipper cheerfully, “now go and get your dunnage together as quick as you can, we don’t want to dawdle away this fine-weather slant.”

The men rushed forward with the utmost alacrity to obey, while the skipper called Frank to his side and said kindly, “Frank, my lad, would you like to go with Mr. Jacks? He has said that he would rather have you than any one else in the ship to be his relief. You’ll be able to keep a watch, and it will be grand practice for you. But if you have any scruples about going, only say so. Or if you think your people would not like you to take the risk. Although, I am bound to say, that I think there will be no more risk in her than there will be here.”

He paused a moment, and Frank, his eyes sparkling and his whole frame quivering with delightful excitement, cried, “Oh, Captain Jenkins, I feel it will be the chance of my life! I am so glad to go, I can’t tell you. I would have begged you to let me if you hadn’t said anything about it, but I felt sure you would. I’m immensely thankful to you, sir. Shall I run and pack up, sir?”

The skipper merely nodded, for his heart was full as he noted the eager joy in the dear lad’s face, and saw how whole-hearted he was in the matter. And a fervent hope filled him that nothing would happen to mar or stop so promising a career.

The next couple of hours were tremendously busy ones, for two or three trips had to be made between the ships before all was ready. It was found that she was exceedingly poorly provisioned, but she had plenty of water and spare sails; in fact she was fairly well equipped for any moderate passage, except that her stores of all kinds were poor and scanty. By dint of hard work, however, midday saw all the necessary transhipments made, the chronometer had been compared, and two or three sails, just sufficient to give her steerage-way to the light south-westerly breeze which was just springing up, were bent and set. Then the flag was found and hoisted, dipped three times, and the two ships drew slowly away from each other, one for London and the other for New York. By nightfall, the breeze having increased, they were hull down apart.

And now we must leave the Sealark to pursue her legitimate voyage towards America with her largely reduced crew, and follow Frank’s fortunes in the Woden. The first few hours on board were of furious toil, for, fine though it was, that part of the ocean is proverbially unstable in its weather, and they were liable at any hour to find a gale beginning. So that they all worked their hardest to try and get the running gear in its place and fit for service, and also, a far heavier task, to get sufficient sail bent to take full advantage of the present slant of wind. So hard did they work that when, amid much astonishment, eight bells (midnight) was announced, all hands, though feeling desperately weary, realised gratefully that as the result of their toil the Woden was once more fit and ready to be handled, and that they might safely take a little rest.

So Mr. Jacks, having previously ordered the cook to prepare as good a meal as possible, called his little crew together, numbering five, not counting the man at the wheel and the cook, or seven all told. He then divided them into two watches, taking himself two hands and the cook, and appointing the other three men, two Scotchmen and a Finn, as the starboard watch.

“And now, men,” he said, “Frank here is going to stand the watch, and I want you to remember that although he is young he’s a clever fellow, and fully capable of handling the ship, besides knowing all the navigation necessary. So in spite of his youth I hope you’ll all do your best for him and yourselves, and I feel sure we shall rub along splendidly. The grub isn’t up to much, but we’ll all fare alike and do as well as we can on it. Now you, Bill and Tom, of my watch, go and get some grub as soon as you can, so as to let the watch below go to sleep. I’ll go down and relieve August at the wheel.”

Then turning to Frank he said, “Tell the cook to bring something aft for us as soon as he has given the chaps theirs. You don’t want to waste any time in getting to your bunk. When you’re as old as I am you’ll wonder how people can sleep as they do.”

When at 4 A.M. Frank heard Mr. Jacks’ gruff voice calling him to rise, he sprang up as usual, but his brain was in a tangle of conflicting recollections. But as he dragged on his clothes, one fact began to separate itself from the rest—responsibility. And it was with a novel sense of trepidation and a certain diffidence and distrust of his own powers that he hurried on to the poop, and approaching the captain said, “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Mr. Brown,” replied the skipper pleasantly, without the slightest suspicion of sarcasm, and Frank felt a glow of satisfied ambition pervade his whole frame. It did more, that simple little salutation, to nerve him for his duty and to dispel his distrust than any long address could have done. But the skipper went on to say, “Now, Frank, don’t be afraid of yourself. I’m not afraid for you. I’ve watched you close ever since our first unfortunate meeting, for a long time trying to find fault with you, and you’ve made me more fond of you than I’ve ever been with a shipmate before. Now I’m going below, tired out, but quite satisfied to leave her to you. And I don’t want you to call me unless you are absolutely obliged to. I can trust you fully. Oh, you might give her a sluice down, easily you know, nothing elaborate, and then if you have any time, see if you can find any topgallant sails in the sail-locker. If you can, get ’em up ready for bending. Course is E.N.E. and the weather’s steady. Good morning.” And away he went below, leaving Frank in charge.

I am not going to attempt any elaborate analysis of Frank’s feelings as he stood there, the autocrat of the quarter-deck. But certainly the paramount sensation was one of perfectly legitimate pride, happy pride in the result of honest endeavour allied to the eager hopefulness of youth that it would be still better further on. And so the time flew rapidly until the cook shouted “Coffee!” and that ever-welcome reviver with its aromatic smell was dispensed, Frank taking the wheel while the man whose trick it was went forward and got his coffee without delay.

A curious little incident occurred here. One of the Scotchmen, called, as usual, Mac (and the other was of course Scotty), said to the Finn as he was knocking the ashes out of his pipe preparatory to going back to the wheel, “What r’ye doin’ that for? Just tak’ yer pipe along. Ther’s naethin’ severely against smokin’ anywhere the noo.”

But the Finn said mildly, “I like fine t’ schmoke at de veel, but I ton’t like to begin id mit de poy in charge. Ef de olt man schmoke all right, nodt ellas,” and aft he went. Mac muttered something uncomplimentary, and that suggested little breach of discipline was not committed either then or subsequently.

As soon as ever four bells sounded, Frank, who had been nerving himself for the effort, shouted, “Wash decks!”

“What’s that?” said Mac angrily. “Wash decks! What th’ ’ell’s the meanin’ o’ this anyhow?”

“Oh! think shame o’ yersel’,” answered Scotty. “This ’s th’ second time you’ve been sejestin’ kickin’ at the laddie aft. An’ it disna maetther a snuff anyway, fur it’s yer wheel. Why shudn’t the decks be washed, though, ye bletherin’ cauf? Hev we changed into pigs all in a minnut?”

There was no answer. Mac went to the wheel, and never again was any attempt made to resent Frank’s authority, while he, happily for his peace of mind, never knew that any such attempt had even been in contemplation. The deck-washing was a very perfunctory performance, and was finished by six bells (seven o’clock). Then Frank, full of zeal, suggested—I can’t say ordered—that it would be a great idea if they could get the two topgallant sails up.

Immediately all the watch and the cook, who had got his breakfast well under way, sallied below and turned out the sail-locker, finding two good topgallant sails. They dragged them on deck and actually succeeded in getting the main topgallant sail bent and set before eight bells, quite a feat remembering their small numbers, but one that I fear will not appeal to the shore readers of this book, who cannot possibly be expected to understand the technique of the sea.

The beautiful southerly breeze still strengthened, and the Woden began to give them a taste of her quality. She was a really fast ship, and greatly superior in every respect, save one, to the Sealark. That one was in her power of keeping out the water below. It was really quite time that she was “sucked out,” as we call it, and as soon as the morning sights for longitude were taken and Frank had gone to his well-earned sleep, the flywheel pumps were overhauled and set in motion for the purpose of getting her free of an element that, however useful outside, had no business within, although fortunately it could not do her cargo any harm.

Thenceforward for two days, during which the steady clankety clank, clank, clank of the pumps became horribly wearisome to listen to, nothing was done but pumping, so anxious were all hands to get a suck out of her, and find out whether the leak was of serious dimensions or not. At last that welcome sound was heard, and the good ship was herself at last, careful calculation showing that a few minutes’ spell in every four hours would keep her free.

This again aroused the question, Why did the crew leave her? how did they leave her? what had become of them? and there was no answer. It was of all mysteries one of the most profound. And none of them had ever heard of the exactly similar case of a barque which was seen yawing about in the Straits of Gibraltar one brilliant day, and on being boarded by a boat from the guard-ship, was found to be abandoned without any apparent reason. Her boats were all in their places and in good condition, and the minutest search failed to reveal the reason why she should be thus deserted. My own theory, in which I am supported by Dr. Andrew Wilson, is that she was boarded while becalmed by one of those terrific nightmares of the sea, the gigantic decapoda, vast creatures with gelatinous bodies, from twenty to sixty feet long, and tentacles extending like an immense network of living wire, gripping and holding with most tenacious clutch everything they touch. It is certainly possible, even if only remotely probable, that such a monster, prompted by some incomprehensible desire, may have risen alongside of her, and extending its enormous arms over her, have gathered the terrific crew, one by one, into its capacious maw. The imagination recoils before the spectacle of those long snaky arms, apparently irresistible in their power, searching out the remotest corner of the ship, and collecting the horror-stricken crew in a hasteless, fateful way, and one can only hope that so awful a trial never did fall to the lot of any man to endure. But I confess that it is the only possible solution of the problem which occurs to me.

The ship having been pumped out, all the necessary sail bent, all the running gear made as fit as possible, Captain Jacks said to Frank, “My dear boy, we’ll devote all our energies now to getting her home. She’s doin’ splendid, but there’s a tough time coming. With all luck we shall fetch the English Channel just as the winter is beginning to try its hand at a few gales to start with, and we can’t be too careful to save ourselves up for that. I don’t mind telling you that I’m mighty anxious over this; if it comes off all right I’m going to quit the sea for good, and settle down on a tiny little farm somewhere in England. I’m done up, sick to death of the constant brutality that I’ve always practised up till now, and also sick to find that if I hadn’t learned a little better this voyage, I couldn’t go on doing what I have done in that line, because I’m not strong enough now. I’m fifty years of age, and sometimes I feel a hundred. Do you know, Frank, I feel as if I’d like to be a good, quiet, religious man, and forget all about the old roaring, fighting, cursing life I’ve led. And, please God, if this adventure of ours pans out all right, I’ll have a tremendous go at it.”

Frank will never forget that conversation. The ship, carrying as much canvas as she could stagger under, plunged forward over the rising sea with a gallant, easy motion, and the great grey masses of cloud came rolling up from the southward in majestic battalions, ever reinforced from the gloomy horizon. The cold light fell full on Mr. Jacks’ face as he stood speaking, and Frank, looking earnestly at him, noted that he seemed to have suddenly aged, the hard lines of his features had softened, and the grim look of determination, almost ferocious in its expression, was replaced by an almost pitiful appearance of weakness.

So forcibly did this strike Frank, that he said anxiously, “Are you quite well, sir?”

A ghost of a smile curled the corners of the hard mouth as the skipper replied, “Oh yes! I suppose I am. Nothin’ the matter with me that I know of, except that, as I said, I’m tired, feel I want to take things easy. Well, I hope I can look forward now to as long a rest as I want. In the meantime, here goes for what I can get now. Carry on as long as you can, but don’t carry anything away if you can help it. Call me if you feel you must, but not unless, for I think that you can handle her now as well as I can, and I want you to feel all confidence. Keep her as she goes, it’s a good course enough, N.E.” And down he went.

Left to himself, Frank began to meditate with a swelling heart upon the wonderful change in his prospects. Mr. Jacks no longer filled his thoughts, but he dwelt with perfectly legitimate pride upon the fact that he, a youth not yet eighteen, was in a position of great trust and responsibility. Of profit in a commercial sense he had no idea; probably he was the only person on board of either the Woden or the Sealark who had not as yet bothered his head over the possibilities of money-making presented in this latest adventure of his.

Lest it should be accounted as too offensively heroic on his part thus to ignore the financial side of things, let me remind you that he had as yet never known the need of money. Never had he felt that craving for those few coins that are as absolutely necessary for satisfying the gnawing needs of the stomach as for clothing the body. Nor had he, because of his happy youth and keen love of the sea, yet had time to realise the bitter anxiety about the future, which haunts men who work hard for their living and are yet entirely unable, owing to the scantiness of their pay, although always at work, to make provision for the old age they see dogging their footsteps like some dread spectre.

At present he was free from all such sad prevision, free to let his fancy soar into contemplation of himself, as a great commander of men, doing things upon the deep that should cause his name to be spoken of all over the world. Again, fortunately for his peace of mind, he did not realise that unless something extremely sensational happens, the greatest men of the British mercantile marine—and they are on such a high level of excellence that it is difficult to fix upon any as higher than the rest—may pass their lives of splendid usefulness to their country and their fellow-men without any recognition by either state or public. Their own cloth know and admire them, and with that they must needs be satisfied.

And so Frank paced the deck, manfully keeping his watch, and staggering now and then as the driven ship began to leap and roll to the rapidly rising sea, through which she was being driven at an ever-accelerating rate. The wind came in fierce snarling gusts, making every portion of the great framework of masts, yards, sails, and rigging crack and complain, while the Finn at the wheel began to glance uneasily at the young officer who strode to and fro in such apparent unconcern.

At last, when it wanted about an hour to eight bells, Hans could stand it no longer, but said sullenly, as Frank neared him in one of his turns, “You goes to blow de masts outen der ship, ain’t it?”

Frank flushed up, but wisely did not answer. Only he wished now for eight bells to come quickly, as he could then hand over his charge without the danger of coming into collision with this man, who was either frightened, or else afraid that after he was relieved it would be “All hands shorten sail,” and he would be let in for a lot of work, instead of standing quietly looking on.

Eight bells, and Frank immediately plunged below to call the skipper, and tell him that in his opinion sail should be shortened at once, for she was carrying all that she could bear with safety, and the wind was increasing so fast that it was becoming dangerous. But there was no answer to his voice, although he raised it to a shout. He went and shook the shoulder of the still form, and the chill struck through his hand to his very heart. Mr. Jacks was dead.