A Complete Story.

i (AH Rights Reserved.)

MY SHARE OF THE SALVAGE.

By HERBERT RUSSELL.

Auther of "The Haunted Ship," "A Mad Revenge," "The Mystery of Whitelady," "Island," "True Blue," "Elmira," &c.

I came to a pause in my short, pendulum-like stumping of the quarter-deck, standing at the rail just abaft the mizzen shrouds, and gazing away seawards. Three bells in the morning watch had just struck, and the night was fading. But its going marked the dreariest of all hours at sea. I know of nothing comparable to the profound sense of desolation borne in upon one by the faint sifting out of the pallid, greenish glimmer against the eastern blackness, and the gradual stealing upon the sight of the wide circle of waters under the broadening twilight. It is so unspeakably lonely, so bleak, so ashen, this dawning of the ocean, emerging in grey, sobbing tracts out of the mystery of the night. To be sure it is but a brief spell, for when the firmament flashes into wide splendour with the rosy reflection from behind the rim of the deep the weird aspect of the day's birth is gone, and sea and sky stand out commonplace through familiarity with the scene.

Somehow the memory of my standing and watching this particular dawn lingers in my mind as a wonderfully clear-cut impression. I suppose I was insensibly influenced by that subduing sense of awe and sadness which will come to a man's mood in this phantasmal hour. Be this as it may, I recollect thinking, I had never witnessed such an incarnation of the spirit of desolation as pervaded that seascape creeping in spectral hues out of the gloom. We were a small, full-rigged ship, named the Cornwall. I was the second mate, and on this particular occasion officer of the watch. The fathomless heart of the South Atlantic lay under our forefoot, and we were slanting through the shouldering billows "a rap full," as sailors say, with our canvas rolling back the echoes of the gushing trades, and our briskly curtseying jibboom pointing fair for the La Plata, whither we were bound.

When I took over the watch from old Sandy Cloutman, the chief, it was uncommonly dark, with' a note almost of storm occasionally shrilling above the hoarse piping of the wind. Indeed, the warning cries of a thousand wild songs sweeping through the invisible rigging on high brought me to the break of the quarter-deck several times on the verge of delivering orders to shorten sail. But I held on all through these weighty blasts, recollecting that the glass below stood steady, and that the region o>f the trade winds is one of pretty settled weather. Just before dawn, however, these gusts lulled altogether, and when sunrise came it found the Cornwall wallowing uncomfortably upon the watery hillocks that brimmed along her bends without weight enough in the pull of her damp canvas to steady her.

I continued standing at the rail until the morning lay broad and clear upon the ocean; then breaking from my half reverie I turned to step across and cast a glance at the compass, when I found the skipper standing at, my elbow. '"Morning," said he. "Good-morning, Captain Reid"— with the customary flourish towards the peak of my cap.

"What's the weather going to do, think you, Mr. Marling?"

"Why, it seems pretty fickle, sir. At one bell it was blowing scissors and thumbscrews, and I was of a mind to take in the t'gallants'ls; now the wind has fallen altogether shy."

"It's not going to remain so. The glass is pretty reassuring, but there's a hard look about the sky that certainly don't spell a calm. May, of course, only mean rain »>

He broke off as the voice of a man came echoing down the hollows of the sails from aloft. I looked up and saw a young ordinary seaman halfway up the topmast rigging shading his eyes and peering ahead. "Well, what is it?" inquired Captain Reid, in a mif3 roar.

"There's a vessel three points on the weather bow, better 'n five mile off, as looks to be in difficulties."

We crossed the deck together and looked ahead. Right in a line with the port cathead was a small, grey smudge, seeming to flicker just above the rim of the sea-line. The seaman aloft must have had a sight like an eagle to detect anything amiss in the appearance of the vessel at that distance.

"The glass, Mr. Marling," said the skipper.

I stepped below and returned with the ship's binoculars.. He levelled them, screwing his face into a mass of wrinkles as he stared, then extended them to me.

"A derelict, or my eyes aren't mates," he exclaimed.

I focussed the grey smudge, which shaped itself into the outline of a small barque," wth her foretopmast and jibboom gone, and much of her canvas standing, quivering in a waxing and waning of shadows

as the light wind rippled through it. She was all aback, and plainly not under control. The! rim of her bulwarks lay flush with the horizon from the low level of our deck, so that it was impossible for me to judge whether she was waterlogged or not, although there appeared to be plenty of buoyancy in her manner of rising and falling. She was too far off for the glasses to reveal whether there was any life moving on board.

"Well, what d'ye make of her?" queried the skipper.

"A wreck aloft, and from the manner she is lying about, I should think disabled,*' I replied. "But not making much water by the easy lift of her hull, eh?" "Just what I think." "We'll go and take a close look. There may be a little mountain of dollars waiting to be picked up yonder. Who knows? Stranger things have happened at sea."

He rasped out some instructions to the half-caste at the wheel, then shuffled on his bunioned feet to the companion and sank below. ' We rose the stranger very slowly to our leisurely approach, although shortly before my watch on deck terminated the wind breezed up again, and the broad track of yeast streaming from under our counter into the wake told that we were making good progress.

During this while I constantly plied the binoculars, but never once detected any signs of life. The vessel looked to me to be a craft of about five hundred tons, and I was satisfied by her bold side that she had a dry hold. When old Sandy Cloutman, our leonine chief mate, came on deck, surly and unshaven, to relieve me at eight o'clock, we were within a couple of miles of the derelict. I exchanged a few words with the shell-backed dog, and then joined the skipper at the breakfasttable. "Getting near yon vessel?" said he. "Aye, Captain, another half-hour will put us aboard." "What does she look like?" "Disabled aloft, but quite tight in her hull, I think. Nothing living seems to be stirring on board."

"I'd like you to take a boat, mister, when you've done your breakfast, and pull over to her. You'll root out what's the matter in half the time it would take that grumpy old beaver on deck."

I kept my gravity, and signified assent. Captain Reid dried his mouth upon his cuff, groaned rheumatically, and went on deck. When I hacTmade an end of my meal, I followed him. As I emerged through the companion-hatch the helm was being put hard down, and the Cornwall rounded-to within half-a-mile of the slowly drifting vessel and came to a standstill.

"Take the port quarter boat with a couple of hands, Mr. Marling, and don't be longer over the job than you can help." "Aye, aye, sir," I replied, and gave orders for some men to lay aft to the davits . The boat splashed into the water; I took my seat between the yoke-lines, and two fellows pulled with sweeping strokes towards the barque. I eyed the vessel very closely as we drew near, for, in truth, I was perplexed, and not entirely free from certain misgivings. There seemed to be scarce ly enough in the loss of her foretopmast and jibboom to account for her abandonment. Was a tragedy of mutiny, or some horror of disease about to be. revealed? I steered the boat around the stern of the craft, reading her name in dull gold letters across the transom—Dora, Cardiff. "Way enough? Hook on to the main chain-plates." We floated alongside, and as the boat bumped lightly, I made a spring, and in a moment gained the deck. T came to a dead halt, staring about me. The appearance of the. vessel between her bulwarks was perfectly commonplace in every detail, and without the least suggestion of confusion except forward, where a lot of "raffle" from the broken topmast trailed across the forecastle. One point, however, I immediately took notice of —all the boats were gone. There was manifestly nothing to be gleaned concerning the vessel's story from the appearance of her decks, so methought I would step below and look for her papers and log-book. I called to the two seamen to hitch the painter of the boat and let her lie alongside, as I might be engaged for some little while. We were evidently drifting considerably faster than the Cornwall, for we had perceptibly widened our distance from that ship; but this was a matter of no moment, seeing that she could easily fill upon her backed sails and foregather upon us when we were ready to board her again. The weather looked rather murky to windward, with a haze as of rain falling that way; however, the wind was still no. more than a moderate breeze, and I felt no concern upon this score.

I stepped across to the tall, roundshouldered hood of the companion hatch, and descended the short, perpendicular ladder. This brought me into a narrow passage, with Vene-tian-screened doors opening off it on either hand. Passing aft I entered the cabin. I found myself in a small, plain, snug-looking interior, furnished with-a wide central table, flanked by a row of lockers on each side to serve as seats, and a roomy sideboard built against the after bulkhead. A square, flat-topped

skylight in the deck above admitted p'enty of light. A canary was hopping about in a cage suspended from one of the beams; it paused to eye me for a moment, and then set up a shrill song. I found it was plentifully supplied with seed and water—pretty conclusive evidence that the vessel could not long have been deserted.

And deserted she certainly was. I remained for two or three minutes in the little interior, gazing about me with a certain degree of curiosity; then I bethought me to hunt for the ship's papers so as to try and ascertain some particulars about this derelict. The likeliest place to find these would naturally be in the skipper's cabin, which I guessed would be one of the apartments communicating with the narrow passage I have already spoken of. This surmise proved correct, for it chanced that the first of the Venetianscreened doors I opened led into the captain's cabin, and if you ask me how I immediately knew this, it was because the ship's chronometers were there.

I began to rummage about in the little apartment, making a start upon a writing-table that was liberally strewn with books, papers, and other objects, including a sextant case. The first discovery I made of any interest was the .ship's logbook. I opened.it and ran through the pages until I came, to the last entry. It was dated three days back, and was a mere commonplace record of the ship's position and the weather. The former item gave the vessel as within about ninety miles of where she now was. I noticed that the handwriting in the log-book was bad, and the entries very illiterate. There was nothing in this volume, however, to tell me what I wanted to know, and so I put it aside and continued my search for the ship's papers. After I had been exploring the little interior for ten minutes or so, I came upon a black tin case with the name of the vessel painted in white letters upon the lid of it. I knew this would contain just what I was seeking for, and hoisting myself on to the edge of the bunk, I prized open the lid and pulled out a little package of blue and white papers. Coming presently to the ship's manifest, I read it through, and discovered that the vessel was the barque Dora, of Cardiff, owned by James Trevelyan Carson of that port; that her burthen was 550 tons, that her skipper's name was John Turner, and that she was homeward bound from Natal with a cargo of fancy wool, palm oil, and various other items of tropical produce. And finally I gathered that ship and freight were insured for figures that gave me a very fair idea of the value of the prize upon which we had stumbled.

I don't know how long I might have been reading through these papers when I was suddenly startled by a sound as of a human cough. The canary was chirruping away all this time, bit!: beyond this and the gentle song of the wind humming amid the sails and the rigging above, the silence had been unbroken all the while I was below. I sat listening intently, but hearing no repetition of the sound I concluded it had only been the creaking of a door or bulkhead as the vessel rolled. Replacing the papers in the tin with the intention of taking them back to my ship for Captain Reid to look through, I stepped forth into the narrow passage again—and then halted with the abruptness of a man suddenly paralysed!

Standing by the sideboard at the after end of the cabin, which I have already described, and which lay plain in view from the passage, was the figure of a tall woman. She had her back to me, and was apparently regarding herself in the mirror which formed the back of the sideboard. Suddenly she uttered a sharp, fierce little cry, and spun round facing me. The wild, startled expression in her face quite killed my own surprise, and I advanced to the end ol the passage, pausing in the doorway of the cabin.

"Stop!" cried the woman "Who are you?"

"A sailor-man, ma'am," said I, plucking off my cap, "who's come to help you if it be that you're in trouble."

She clasped her hands convulsively, and broke into a little hysterical laugh. My first immediate fear was lest she should be mad, but I was soon reassured upon this point.

"Thank goodness you are English!" she cried. "And thank goodness that somebody has come at last!"

"You are alone here?" "Yes, alone. I have been alone now for two days."

"How comes your ship to be abandoned? She appears quite sound in her hull?"

She hesitated a moment before replying, as though, indeed, ; she did not immediately understand the question, and during this brief pause I took stock of her, as the old writers say. As I have already said she was tall, and of a most comely figure. She carried a careworn, half-haggard expression, as though she had not slept during all the while she had been alone; but, notwithstanding, she looked very pretty as she stood confronting me, lightly swaying with the movements of the ship. I would define her beauty as of: the type which grows upon you, father than strikes you fascinated at the first

glance—l believe the former impression to be the more lasting. She was very dark; with a great profusion of lustrous hair loosely piled on top of her well-poised head, and very clear-cut features, which gave one the idea of considerable strength of character. Her eyes were wonderfully fine, quick and flashful of movement, and with a basilisk-like glint in their penetrating glance. I guessed this young lady's age to be about five-and-twenty, although I presently discovered that I was nearly four years ahead of the truth.

"How comes this ship to be abandoned?" she repeated. "Why —of course, because all the sailors went away and left her."

"Naturally. But why did they go?"

"That I cannot say. I will tell you the story, or at any rate all I know of it. My father is a merchant at Capetown, and the Dora belongs to him. I had been ailing for some time, and our doctor recommended a voyage to England as the one thing to buck me up, as he called it. So father decided to send me in this ship under the charge of Captain John Turner, an old and trusted servant of his. I came on board in Table Bay just about three weeks ago, and we; sailed away. We had not been out more than a few days when Captain Turner was taken suddenly ill with terrible pains, and died. Nobody seemed to know what was the matter with him ; I believe it must have been heart disease. I was terribly concerned at his loss, and not at all happy at being left without a guardian. The mate, Julius Bennett, took the command of the ship after this. He was an uncooth personage, but perfectly respectrto me. The sailors became very lazy, always smoking and lounging about. I seldom went on deck, and looked forward anxiously to the end of the voyage, making up my mind to return in one of the mail steamers. I went to my cabin as usual the night before last, and locked the door, as I always did before getting- into my bunk it was very dark and rough outside, which caused the ship to pitch considerably; but I am a good sailor, and instead of causing me discomfort the . tossing only soothed me into a sound sleep. I was awakened by a tremendous crash,' the shock of which threw me '' out of bed. You know how one's senses are all confused on being suddenly awakened, and it took me several minutes to collect my wits. I then sat up to listen, hv.' could hear nothing beyond the wail of the wind and the moan of the wa \s washing^past outside. You will probably laugh at my sangfroid, but I was by now so accustomed to all sorts of alarming noises on deck that, finding no repetition of the shock I have told you about, I thought I had possiWy been d>eaming o f earthquakes, and turned over and went to sleep again. When I awoke the sun was shining through my little circular window. I dressed1 and went up on deck ; to my utter astonishment I found one of the masts broken, all the boats gone, and the ship quite deserted.*'

She stopped, with an interrogatory lift of her eyebrows.

"This barque has been in collision, that is pretty plain to me," said I. "Her crew doubtless cleared out in a panic, and maybe forgot all about you in concern for their own noble selves. Probably best for you that this should have been so." "A thousand times better than being' forced to accompany them in one of the little boats. I suppose you come from a ship near here?" "Yes, Miss Carson." She started. "How do you know my name?"

"You tell me this ship is owned by your father, and his name appears in her manifest, which I have got in this tin case here."

"I see. And your name is——?" "Hark!" I cried, "What is that?"

A lovvj muflledj roaring sound had caught my ear—a note which T instinctively recognised as that of approaching storm. T now look notice too for the first time that the air had been gradually darkening, and that the heavens, so far as they were visible through the little square panes of the skylight, had turned as livid as slate.

"It sounds like wind —it is getting louder—it is coming towards us." said the girl. "A squall, and this vessel will be caught all standing. Pardon me, I must get up on deck without delay; perhaps you will follow me," and so saying I scurried along the passage leading to the companion ladder, and up*on deck in a trice. As soon as I emerged I beheld a slrnting haze of wet and wind bearing down upon us about a mile ay.ay, and whipping the vater at. its base into a little race of froth ps it swept the surface. We had surprisingly increased our distance from the Cornwall, which was just now keeping away and letting fly her topgallant halliards so as to be ready for the first brunt of the corning outfly. I jumped to the bulwark, meaning to hail the two fellows In the boat to tumble up and let go everything, as sailors say. The little craft was gone. For the instant I thought she had swamped, and caught my breath in a quick gasp; then looking towards the Cornwall I perceived the tiny

black shape of the boat going alongside, and I silently cursed the men for deserting, me, even though I guessed they had been recalled to the ship for some reason or other.

However, there was no time to lose. I sprang to the wheel, and found it hard over. Luckily the derelict lay in such a posture that the squall would catch her on the quarter, instead of taking her aback, and as she gathered way she would continue to pay off and run right before it. I then ran to the main-topgallant halliards, and cast these off the. belaying-pin; whilst the yard was rumbling down the mast the hissing. smother flashed through our rigging, splitting into a wild confusion of shrilling choruses, and the whole weight of the outburst was upon us. I thought the barque was going to capsize. Over and yet over she heeled, bowling before the level pouring of the blast until her lee scuppers were awash. There was a sullen report like a solitary thunderclap, and the main-topgal-lant sail was ribboning from its yard and melting out almost like smoke. Then, as the vessel started racing through it, she righted again. I scampered back along the sobbing deck to the wheel, for the vessel would want steering now. I counted the whole thing to be no more than a passing squall, and reckoned that half-an-hour at most would see the last of it, with the Cornwall bearing up for us again.

Miss Carson emerged through the companion hatch, but finding the rain sweeping in heavy horizontal lines she crouched back into the shelter of the hooded cover and remained there looking about her. I flourished my hand with a gesture intended to convey that there was no cause for alarm, and she smiled arid nodded. The scudding haze obscured the horizon to within a short mile around, and the Cornwall had been swallowed up. The sea began to rise under the furious rush of the wind, but as we were leading the run of the billows they would have to grow very heavy to cause us to labour much. The buoyancy of the vessel's movements satisfied me that she had a dry hold. It seemed to me after we had been romping along in this wise for about half-an-hour that instead of showing signs of abatement, the wind rather gathered in force. The atmosphere all this while remained as thick as a snowstorm with the clouds of wet driving through it, and I was by now sodden to the skin.

It dawned upon me that unless the Cornwall was making the same course as ourselves—which I guessed to be very improbable— we should not be long in running out of ken of her if we continued at this speed. Once or twice I thought of putting the helm down, and endeavouring to heave the barque to, but the procedure was too risky in such heavy weather, and would have involved every reasonable chance of carrying away the mast, and so there was nothing for it but to keep on scudding. The rain almost ceased presently, and the horizon opened for about a league around, but without revealing any signs of my ship. Miss Carson enveloped herself in a mackintosh, and came and stood by my side, but the wind was too uproarious to permit of much talking. We carried on brief snatches of shouted conversation, however, the purport of which was tfiat the nearest port would be Rio Janeiro, distant about 550 miles, and that if we should fall in with the Cornwall again she would lend us men enough to carry the Dora to that place, whence Miss Carson would easily take steamer for home.

Well, it might have been somewhere about nine o'clock when this outfly of roaring weather bore down upon us, and it was not until hard upon noon by my watch that the spell of tempest began sensibly to subside. A fine procession of froth-crested ridges was chasing us by this time. The rain cleared off, and the sea-line stood forth black and sharply cut under the stooping masses of scud. There was nothing in sight, but this I had been largely prepared for. Luckily we were in warm parallels, and my long trick at the savagely-kick-ing wheel, in sodden clothes, caused me no inconvenience—indeed, the ceaseless wrestling wit'i the spokes kept me pretty hot.

"We are alone," said I, as my gaze met the fine, dark eyes of Miss Carson after travelling around the ocean. "The Cornwall has vanished, and I doubt whether we shall pick her up again."

"If not, what will you do?" "Oh, there is no need for concern. This ship is manifestly tight and sound, so that we are as safe in her as needs be. We are right in the track of Horn-bound vessels, and are sure to be fallen in with presently. Meanwhile we will keep on jogging as we go, for luckily the wind is setting us dead in for Rio, and more improbable things have come to pass at sea than that I should make the port singlehanded.

"Won't you let me hold the rudder—helm—what d'ye call it? —for you? Surely you must be tired and want a rest?"

"The kick of the wheel would send you somersaulting, and the ship would turn round and look at you. in her hurry to broach-to," I re- | plied, laughing. "If you can man-]

age to get me a nip of grog and some biscuits you'd be helping, to keep me going until the force is gone out ot the wind, and then you shalhsteer."

She trotted off with wonderful ease and grace along the staggering deck, and presently returned with a little tray bearing the things I had asked for. I must confess that this little adventure was far from distastefulto me. It not only held promise of substantial profit, but there was already a distinct spice of romance in it too. My attention had been too much preoccupied since the bursting of the squall to think of much else than the handling of the ship, but as the wind fell and the strain upon my vigilance relaxed, so I found my thoughts running to increasing admiration, to sundry vague speculations, and various other forms of musing such as might naturally be engendered in a young man thrown unexpectedly into the company of a pretty castaway maiden under such circumstances as I am narrating. I managed to make some kind of a meal, snatching the moments when the ship was poised upon the crest of a sea to relax my hold of the spokes, and clutching at them again as she started yawing in her flight down the seething declivity. liss Carson seated herself upon the wheel gratings close by, and we chatted, or rather I should say kept up a shouted conversation, for the noise the storm was not lightly to be drowned. Well, I should only weary you, besides running my story on to unreasonable limits, if I were to detail in full the passage of that day. The wind continued gradually to moderate during the afternoon, but even by sunset it was still blowing what I should call a good half-gale. My arms ached as though they had been wrenched from their sockets through my long spell at the helm. Once or twice I was very near letting go the spokes and leaving the barque to her own devices, but as this would hove probably cost us our masts I made the best of it and Held on all. However, when the sun had dipped into the misty western flush, the weight went out of the wind as by magic, and the Dora began to roil abominably as she lost the steadying effect of her straining canvas. The clouds broke up, leaving dim blue lagoons of sky here and there; the horizon remained fairly clear, and though I often swept the circle carefully yet we never once sighted anything throughout the rest of the day.

When the dusk of the evening was rapidly deepening into the obscurity of night—we were in tropic parallels in which the transition is quick—and a few pale stars were glimmering past the reeling mastheads, I lashed the wheel amidships and stepped aside to see whether the barque would continue to run her course. To my satisfaction I found that the trim of her headsails prevented her from broaching-to, and with my hands and face fairly bleached with sea salt, and my ears singing as though a blowing safety-valve were within a yard of the back of my head, I made my way down into the cabin, thankful for the first bit of shelter I had enjoyed for twelve roaring, sobbing hours.

Miss Carson sat at the table reading; she had lighted a little swing lamp, and the interior looked quite cosy in the soft sheen. She had changed her dress and trimmed her rich profusion of hair, and I returned her gaze with genuine admiration as she glanced up on my entering.

"The ship must look after herself for a little now the weather is settling down," said I. "In fact, I have had just about enough of it for a time."

' 'You will find a lot of dry things in the captain's cabin,'' said she. "He was just about your build; why not make use of them? Meantine I will get some supper, for you must be nearly famished."

The suggestion was a good one, and I hastened to carry it out. I knew where the cabin was, for, as you may recollect, I had found the ship's papers there. I struck a match and lighted a swinging bracket candle, and after a little rummaging found all I needed to provide me with a change of garments. When I had made myself comfortable and presentable as far as possible I stepped up on deck for a minute or two to take a look round, and found the barque still surging through it, yawing widely as she ran, but always keeping the wind and sea well upon the quarter. The night was dark, but the horizon had cleared. There was nothing in sight, and, satisfied that all was well, I returned to the cabin, where Miss Carson had made quite a sumptuous show upon the table, from delicacies which I shrewdly guessed the old shipowner had put on board for her use.

The girl was in good spirits, and as we sat and ate in that little heaving interior she chatted to me cheerily about her home in South Africa, and suchlike matters. I was sensible that I formed but indifferent company, however, for, in truth, I was thoroughly wearied, having been up since four o'clock in the morning, and gone through an extraordinarily fatiguing day. Seeing me yawn several times, the young lady told me that she herself had scarcely closed her eyes since she had been alone on board the Dora.

'■ "I think you may sleep without anxiety to-night," said I. "For my part 1 mustn't leave the barque entirely to her own devices, so I shall make a shakedown for myself at the foot of the companion ladder that I may be up and down during the night. It won't be very comfortable, but in our plight that can't be helped." Soon after this she retired to her birth, whilst I dragged a mattress from one of the bunks and made ready to spend the night in the fashion I had suggested. Hard as my bed was I slept well. During the darkness I was up and down several times, and towards the small hours found the wind no more than a warm, soft breeze, and the sea subsiding into a longdrawn swell that rolled foamless and silent under the stars. The morning broke fine and clear; the breeze had briskened again, and veered into the south-east, which made me think it was the regular Trade-Wind. At dawn there was nothing in sight, and so I went below for another forty winks. x When I came up again the sun had risen to an hour's height above the horizon, and Miss Carson, looking wonderfully fresh and pretty with a sailor hat perched over her brow, was standing by the mizzen rigging watching a gaunt-looking steanv boat that was driving down towards us under a great whirl of smoke about two miles away. "That's not your ship?" said she. "No, thank Heaven!" I replied, laughing, "The Cornwall is a yacht alongside that ocean tramp. Yet she may do us a good turn. At any rate, we will give her a chance."

I put the helm down and threw the barque aback. There was not weight enough in the wind to render such a proceeding the least degree risky. Half-an-hour later the gaunt-looking steamboat had come to a standstill within a few hundred yards of us, and her skipper, one Paul Lloyd Evans, whose name and accent well justified his pride in hailing from Cardiff, had come on board "just to talk -things over, like,"_as he explained. And, to cut this part of my narrative short, I may say that I agreed with him to tow us into Rio, whither he was bound, for a third share of whatever salvage was awarded for the recovery of the vessel.

The Magician—for such was the name of this Cardiff tramp—made a much more expeditious job of towing us than I should have anticipated. It is true that the following wind greatly helped us. Within thirty hours from the time of her picking up our hawser the Dora was at anchor in the beautiful harbour of Rio. Miss Carson and myself at once went ashore, arid cabled to her father in Capetown a brief account of the adventure which had befallen his ship, asking for instructions. We received no reply for a couple of days, then Miss Carson got a message: "Ask Mr. Marling to engage crew and navigate Dora to Cardiff. If he will, sail in her yourself^' I was nothing loth to undertake this mission, especially as Miss Carson said she would sooner go home in the barque than wait ten days for the next mail steamer. The British Consul provided me with what! needed in the way of money, and I had the damage to the foretopgallant mast and jibboom made good. It did not take me long to get a crew together, as the port seemed full of sailors out of work. And just a week after our arrival we put to sea again, leaving Rio curiously enough in company with the vessel which had towed us in, and which was likewise bound for Cardiff.

Our passage home was rather a long one, for we had many spells of baffling weather in the Doldrums. But, in truth, those were halycon days to me, and never was a skipper more resigned to the delays of calms and cat's-paws than I was during this voyage. To be sure you will guess the reason why so easily that to explain it would be like telling you it is daylight when the sun is up. We came into Barry Roads fifty-nine days after leaving Rio, and here Maud Carson and I parted for awhile. Tfiere was like to have been a good deal of squabbling over the salvage award, for the owners of the Cornwall wanted to put in for a share on the grounds that I was in their employ when Captain Reid bade me go on board the Dora. It seemed that any claim had to be made by myself, however, and I quite upset all the calculations of the avaricious shipowners by refusing to claim at all. In this, may be, I was not so unselfish as some people seemed to think, for I had already got my own share of the salvage in the shape of Mr. Carson's promise of his daughter's hand, together with an income that was big enough to enable me to give up the sea and follow a pursuit more to my taste. Which I am pleased to say' I have been able to do with so much success as to entirely save me from about the most contemptuous reproach that, in my opinion, can be levelled at a man—the sneer that he lives upon his wife. (The End.)