Tales and Sketches.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 606, 15 September 1883, Page 5

Tales and Sketches.

By W. CLARK RUSSELL, Author of “The Wreck of the Grosvf.nor, a Sailor’s Sweetheart,” “An Ocean Free Lance,” &c., &c.

A SEA QUEEN.

CHAPTER XXXVI —Wa Sight a Sail.— (Continued.) For instance, I would suppose that we did not eight a vessel for days and days. Again ••and again t.l is dreadful curse had fallen upon 'famine-stricken sailors, as the maritime •annals show. Was it to be hoped that I •could reckon for any length of time upon my •strength ? and if nature gave way with me, what could Spence do ? He could not always be at the wheel ; he would need rest ; and might not his strength fail him, too ? And then, figure our condition, floating about in a vessel we could not control, and without ■the least knowledge of our whereabouts ; all three of us prostrate, I too sick and feeble to •attend to my husband’s wants ! ‘ I say this was only one of the horrible but probable fancies that came into my head as I •stood alone at the wheel that night, starting -at the imagined stirring of same delusive shadow in the black air on either side of the cabin, listening to the hollow, mournful notes in the rigging-, and to the plaintive, sobbing cadence of splashing water, whiLt the horned moon took a faint pinkish tinge as it sank to a level with the fore-topsail-yard, and the sea was flushed up around by the radiance of its own emerald-green fires, and filled my ear -with the multitudinous creaming and seething of its innumerable surges. I had looked at the watch, and made out,

r «vith great difficulty, by the faint flame of - the binnacle lamp, that, it was twenty minutes before midnight; and I had put the watch in my pocket, with my face turned in the direetion'of the sea over the weather beam, when T thought I could see a kind of grey shadow that way. I rubbed my eyes, to efface the imp-ession of the white face of the watch from my sight, and looked aga : n, and then seeing the shadow very plainly against the stars, which shone purely down to the very sea-line, my heart began to beat fast. To make sure, I let go the wheel and seized the glass ; but ithe darkness was very deceptive. I thought tbelenswas out of my focus, and the tubes being stiff, I had some trouble to get the telescopeto give me a clear picture. Th : s bother cost me some minutes, but at last_ I had the right *focu3, and on bringing the glass to bear upon the shadow, I distinctly made it out to be a large ship, heading as we were under a great crowd of canvas. No sooner waa. my mind satisfied that the shadow was a ship, then I seized the line attached to Spence, and pulled it vigorously with both hands. Three times had I to tug the line before I could awaken the lad, proving -that I should have done better to let Richard have the end tied to him. My impatience became an agony, for the ship was moving Bwiftlv, and drawing ahead like a roll of smoke. I was "running towards the cabin when Spence • came hurriedly along. * What is it, mistress ?’ he called out. ‘ls it eight bells yet ?’ ‘ See ! there’s a ship out there !’ I exclaimed pointing and articulating in my wild excitement with the greatest difficulty. ‘ Howare we to make her know we are in distress ?’ ‘ Why we must burn a flare !’ he roared out, rendered half mad on a sudden by the news, * Mind the helm, ’m—we’re aback !’ he bawled, and rushed forward. ‘lt was true enough. I had let go the wheel, to use the glass, and in the delay occasioned by my clumsy bothering over the stiff tubes, the brig had swept round in a semi-circ-le, bringing the wind on the bow and the shadow of the ship on the lee beam. The sails were rattling smartly, but in a few moments they were right aback, and lay silently pressing against the masts. I ran to the wheel and put it hard over. But the brig’s way was stopped; indeed by •this time she may have gathered stern way, in which case I ought to have put the helm hard a port. But I never thought of that. I considered the stoppage of the vessel a deathblow to our chance of being seen and helped by Hie ship that was fading away out in the darkness; for, though she out sailed us fast, still we might have managed to keep within the compass of her horizon long enough to enable us "to make a flare that should be visible to her,

had it not been for my unhappy letting go of /the whe'ei, and the rounding of the brig into -the wind. Finding that the vessel lay motionless, Blightly leaning under the breeze, with her canva's bellying abaft the masts, I quitted the helm, snd ran on to the main-deck, where I found Spence in the act of firing a small pile •of wood he had removed from the galley, on the top of which was a tar barrel and divers odds and ends which he had collected, I knew not whore —oakum, and canvas and the like. He may have found them in the deck-house, but he had closed the door of that . place again, and I never thought of asking .where ho obtained his materials. But, such a 3 they were, they were of the right kind to make a blaze, especially the tar barrel. He fired them with a piece of oakum lighted at the cabin lamp, and in a few moments there soared up a strong, brilliant flame, that threw out the sails and spars of the brig a 3 though the yellow moonlight lav upon them ; a thick smoke went up from the tar, and as the flames rose and sank, the coming and going of the rod lustre was like the play of lightning upon the deck end sails. * Just take the glass, and see if they min 1 us, will’ee mi-sis !’ shouted Spence, who looked terribly unearthly in the wild glare of the fire as he ran round it, poking and stirring it, and reminding me of the picture of the cannibals in ‘ Robinson Crusoe.’ ‘ Take care that you don’t set the brig on fire !’ I cried. ‘ I’ll see to that,’ he answered. I ran afe, took the glass, and pointed it in thedirection where I had last seen the ship. I saw her at once, but she was the merest phantom of a shadow now. That she had not altered her course I knew by the squareness

of her outline. If she saw the light and meant to come to us, she would take in her studding-sails ; and her keoping that canvas aloft, ns I could judge by the shape of the darkness she made, proved that she was heading away from us. Nevertheless, I stood watching her through the glass until her shadow completely faded out, and then, turning round, chilled to the heart by the bitter disappointment of the eager hopes thut had filled me whilst she remained in sight, I found the brig in darkness. I went on to the main-deck, and saw Spence trampling out a mas 3 of glowingembers. ‘ It’s no use,’ said I, ‘ sho did not see us, and is out of sight.’ * She may be out of sight, but dunno about her not seeing us,’ he exclaimed, stamping and making the sparks fly as he crushed the embers with his big feet. I entered the cabin to tell Richard wliat bal happened, and to ask him to advise me how to get the brig before the wind. Tho lamp burned brightly. My husband lay motionless on bis back, with his arms by his side, but his face worked with the excitement kindled by our proceedings on deck, which he know very well the meaning of, and with the torment raised in Ilia mind by his helplossness and inability to move at such a time. 1 I know what lias happened, Jess,’ said he at once, ns I knelt by his side to take his hand and kiss his forehead. * You have sighted a ship and burnt a flare, but she is gone. ‘ Yes,’ I replied ; ‘ but we have no right to expect help from the first vessel we sight., on a dark night, too, and with nothing better at band than a few pieces of wood and a tar barrel to make a. light.’

* How was she heading ?’ ' ‘ Aswewere,’* I answered ; ‘ due west, as nearly as I could make out.’ And I then told him that, having let go the wheel when I first sighted tho ship, in order to view her through the glass, the brig had come up in the wind, and now lay aback.. ‘ Has tho breeze freshened’’ he asked. ‘ Nothing to speak of,’ I replied. He was silent for a while, and then said very despondently. ‘ I don’t know whether it would not be best to haul up the ' foresail—which Spence can manage by taking the elewgarnets through a Snatch-block to the forecastle capstan or aft to the winch, if the sails should prove too heavy for him and you —and swing the foreyards, and let the brig remain ns she is. If our only chance lies in being picked up some passing ve-sel, we may as well' keep quiet, keep things easily and wait for something to turn up. It is too much that you should he at the wheel —day and night getting but letting rest, exposing yourself on deck to the sun by day and to the damp chill by night, and perhaps planting the seeds of a lifelong ill-health, and all for no purpose. Better heave to the brig to, Jes j ,’ said he, speaking with the manner of one who has no hope left. ‘ ‘ No, no 1’ I exclaimed earnestly. *lt would end in my faliingmad outright, Richard to go on deck hour after hour, and day after day, and find ou's-lves motionless, and nothing in sight but the empty desolate sea. Tho mere sense of moving keeps up the heart; and surely we must multiply our chances tenfold by pushing towards the ocean highways.’ ‘ Very well,’ said he softly, and without the least spirit. ‘Be it so, since you wish it. You are captain, and you can do as you like,’ he added, with a wan, faint smile. ‘ I’m but a sheer hulk, indeed, only fit to be tossed overboard. * Come, Richard,’ said I smartly, guessing that if I let the feelings his words excited master me I should only deepen his despondency ; “ this is not language for a sailor to hold. We have topreserve our lives ; and if Q-od will but continue my health, it shall not be my fault if we don’t both of U 3 see the canny town again, and relate our adventures to Thomas Snowdon, master-mariner. Is there no magic in the memory of father’s hearty old presence to quicken the true seamen’s heart that heats in you ?’ ‘ It’s my broken leg,’ said he, catching hold of my hand, ‘ and my being floored, with will enough in me to raise the dead, and not physical power enough to crawl an inch, that breaks me down. Here have I been lying for near twelve hours—and for how much longer must I go on lying ?—and at a time, too, when, but for that lazaret te, I should be able to do the work of three men, so as to bring you to that canny town which you tell me we shall yet see. But this is only a pas.-ing mood, Jess. Take no notice of it. I was half maddened by knowing there was a ship in sight, and hearing you at work with Spence, and not being able to stir so as to advise and lend a hand. If it will make you feel happier to have the brig sailing, by all means get her started afresh on tier voyage to nowhere.’ ‘ How am I do that ?’

* Why,’ said he, ‘ first of all I suppose, she has stem-way. If that’s so, put the helm hard a-port and take a turn with a rope’s end over one of two spokes to keep the wheel steady. Then flatten in you jib and staysail sheet. Let me see, the jib is set, I think ?

‘ Yes,’ said I. ‘ Get those head-sheels flattened in you and Spence can manage that. Then mute shift to swing the rcainyards, so as to point them to the wind, that there may bo no pressure on tho canvas. Keep the foreyards as they are. When the brig pays off, reverse the wheel as she comes to her course, trim the yards as best you can.’ ‘Since we shall have to drag the yards about,’ said I, ‘ had we not botfer brace them up, so a 3 to be able to steer more north than we have been going ?’ ‘ Oh, it doesn’t matter,’ ho answered. ‘ If we are to shove forward at all, we had best go westwards. The sooner we’re out of these seas the better.’ I went on the main-deck, where Spence was kicking the ashes of tho fire into the scuppers, and told him to help me to get the brig on her course again. I clearly remembered Richard’d instructions, and the first thing I did waa to look over the side, and watch tho little gleams of froth upon the surface of the water, which speedily satisfied nee that the vessel was moving stern wise. I then went aft to the wheel, put it hard a-porfc and secured it by the bight of a rope over one of the spokes. This done, I called to Spence to give me a band to flatten in the jib and staysail sheets Of course, I could not see Lis

face ; but I had not the least doubt that he was thunderstruck to hoar mo giving these orders, and correct orders, too ; nor was I without surprise mvself, for I certainly never could have believed that my knowledge of the sailor's vocation was suffi jiently minute to qualify mo to carry out all the instructions Richard had given me without blundering. The youth bundled about in a very handsome manner, hauling heartily, and singing out at tho top of Ilia voice. He was as uncouth as ii ploughman, but. strong as a horse, and was of the utmost assistance besides in knowing tho right ropes, and being able to put his hand upon them at once. The yards ran round much more easily thun I had imagined, Sponce drugging with all his weight upon the braces, whilst I kept the hauling part under a belaying-pin, taking in the slack as it came ; and in ten minutes’ time I was at the wheel, waiting for Spence to trim and light the binnacle lamp, the brig once more following the w.ike of the moon that stood like an angry wound or blood-red scar in the black sky over the jib-boom end, and the yards bruced ns they had been before the brig had c ime up into tho wind. Relating this sort of work is not hard ; but let me assure you the actual thing was desperately fatiguing to me, who had never had to haul and pull before, and who was already worn out by tlxo four hours’ watch I had kept. My hands glowed like hot iron witli the toil, the perspiration streamed from my face, and there wae such a tormenting tingling'of weariness in my legs that, but for being able to rest myself upon the lodge of the spindle cover I have before des:ribed, I must have sank down upon tile deck. Still, it soothed my fear and comforted my heart to hear the wash of the passing water, and to feel that we were once more moving. I am sure the stagnation of being hove-to hour after hour, and perhaps day after day, would have affected my mind, as I had told Richard. A sense of life was communicated by the mere circumstance of moving, and'hope could not sink whilst every hour that came round held a chance in it of our progress bringing a sail into view. But to heave to would be like giving up, and sitting down to die. That such a suggestion should have come from my husband, who in health would have been first to indignantly and angrily denounce it, was' the saddest proof that, could have been offered mo of his shattered spirits, and of the mental suffering induced in him by the cruel accident that had befallen him at a time in liis life when his health and strength could never be more precious to him and to me.

Presently Spence returned with tile lamp, which he put into tho binnacle. ‘ There’s the end of the line,’ said I, pointing to it on the deck. ‘ I will attach it to my arm ; but a very slight pull will be enough,’ I added, thinking that if he should Bee some object to excite him, he might haul as though he had got hold of tbe topsail haiFards, and hurt me. ‘ All right, misses,’ said he ; * I’ll take care not to do more nor twitch it.’ I lingered to take a last look around. The moderate breezo blew pleasantly, and kept the sea trembling with phosphorescent flashes; the stars seemed to have gathered brilliance with the deepening night, and those of the first magnitude shone with extraordinary richness and beauty, some of them touching the dark ocean with points of silver light, as though they were little moons. Tbe small Bteam colored clouds drifted swiftly and steadily under them. The air was warm, yet the dew lay so thick that the starlightglittered in the decks, and I could have thrown the water in showers offthe companion or skylight or bulwarks-rails with my hand. I went on top of the cabin witli the telescope ; and r-sting it on the iron iail, swept the sea-line slowly and stealthily on both sides the brig as fir forward as the foresail would let me level the glass , and now, feeling quite exhausted, I replaced tbe telescope, told Spence to keep a sharp look out, and gave him my husband’s watch to put in his pocket ; then made my way wftb trembling legs to the cabin. CHAPTER XXXVI I. A Strangf Meeting. Spence had occupied tbe mattrass I had placed for myself next to Richard ; but fastidiousness would have been much out of place at such a time as that ; and I had to centent myself by turning tbe mattiass ovei and reversing the bolster. ‘ You look tired out, Jessie,’ exclaimed my husband. ‘ And what a bed for you to come to !’ * Yes,’ said I ; ‘ but it’s a more comfortable bed than other shipwrecked people have found lo lie upon. Is !h re anything I can do for you, Richard ?’ ‘Nothing.’

‘ Poes your leg pain you ?’ ‘ Why, yes,’ said he ; * there is always a pain in it. I must expect that ; but shall not mind it if it stops there. In other respects I am none the worse for my fall and breakage. ‘ In body you mein,’ said I, ‘ and I thank God to hear you say ; j ; but I wish your spirits were what they were.’ ‘ They would be if I could get up and go to work,’ he exclaimed ; ‘ but there is nothing here far mo to do, except to think ; and though wo were on board a fine steamer, Jess, fast making for home, instead of on a little brig, with but one man to woi-k her, and though instead of having a broken leg, I was as sound as I was on board the Aurora, yet surely there would be enough in the incidents of our short voyage in that unhappy barque to keep me miserable and dejected.’ ‘ Yes, I have to admit that,’ said I, removing my hat, and preparing to lie down. ‘ But,’ continued he, speaking with excitement, ‘ ta e everything that has happened together—t e mutiny, the trouble I had with that miscreant of a mate, the fire, the dastardly deseition of U 3 by the crew, the loss of the noble little baiqr-e, our sufferings since, and the perils which still confront us—how would you have me hold up my spirits, forced as I am to lie like a baby upon this deck, with nothing to think of but the dark past and the yet darkor pre ent ?’ ‘ Have you slept to-night ?’ I asked. ‘ F»r an 1 our about —not longer,’ he replied; ‘ Try now to get some sleep, then. Two or three hours’ rert will stop you from thinking I am mire afraid of your mind than of th^

injury you have received. This kind of fretting may end in throwing you into a fever and what shall I do if that happens.’ He fondled my hand, saying lie hoped it would not come to that. ‘ Then,’ said I, ‘ for my fake, Richard, shut your oyes and endeavor fto obtain some rest.' He did so, and lay quiet;, and I closed my eyes too ; but, in spite of my weariness, I could nott-leep ; my fatigue was an aching all through tho body, too excessive for repose. I lay listening to the light creaking—noises in the vessel, as she swayed with the swell, aud to the muffled rushing sound of the wind, that came very audibly from the main deck through the open cabin door. I often recall the picture we must have presonted as we rested side by side upon the plain hard mattrasses, completely dreseed, with no other covering on us than our clothes. This time last night I was in an opon boat, asleep on my husband’s shoulder; and now, though twenty-four hours bad passed, they found us still together and alive ; but could I say better off ivlien I thought of the terrible misfortune that had rendered Richard as helpless as a child, and left me alone with a young seaman to navigate a brig of hard upon two hundred tons? How far did these present experiences correspond with my early seductive fancies of the sea ? What had bocome of those dreams of glorious freedom, the speeding of fabrics leaning in towering and gleaming heights of white upon the flashing waters, those visions of green islands, stretching their golden sands into the glass like blue of the perfumed ocean, which bad colored my young imagination until the very, name of tbe sea thrilled through me like tbe whisper of a sweetheart in a girl’s ear ? I was answered by the solemn motion of tho brig rytbmioally rolling as she went slowly along, by the blackness out upon the maindeck, where the gloom Ftood like a wall of ebony against the cabin windows and the open door, by thoughts of tbe loneliness therej and of the men who had died one by one in the deck-house forward; The spirit of the deep had changed its shape indeed ; it was no longer a radiant form, wooing me into realms of tender azure and prismatic waters ; but a skeleton crouching motionlessly, and lookin' steadfastly upon me with its frightful grin, keeping watch over a mighty liquid grave, full of the dark outlines of drowned men and women.

There was something febrile in such thoughts as these, as you may suppoe.e, and they kept me awake for full three-quarters of an hour after I had put my head upon the bo’ster. But Richard had fallen asleep, and his regular respiration fell at last soothingly upon my ear for it gladdened me to feel that for a time, at all events, his mind had ceased to fret and chafe him. But truly nothing happens to one in this world that somehow does not turn out to be for the best ; for, whilst lying awake I got thinking of Spen-e alone on deck, and the thought of him instantly put it into my head that I had forgotten to attach the line to my arm. This I promptly rectified ; though but for my not being able to fall asleep speedily, it is certain that Spence might have gone on standing at the wheel for hours, unless by quitting the helm to arouse me be had let tile brig take her chance of rounding into the wind, and falling aback again. My sleep was deep and refreshing, and never mortal rose more reluctantly from his bed thau I from my mattrass when I was awakened by my arm being gently jerked by tho line. I pulled in response, to let Spenre know I was awake, and would be with him in a moment. The cabin lamp, that was shing pretty brightly when I fell asleep, had burned out the oil, and tbe cabin was pitch dark. I 3poke Richard’s name softly, and listened ; but he made no answer. His deep and regular respirations told me that he still slept, and in order not to arouse.him I ciept away from the cabin on tiptoe, guided by the door, through which I spied a little fragment of starlit sky glimmering beyond the bulwarks The night air struck cold, and made me shiver; but then, to be sure, I had been sleeping in a dre9B that hung heavy upon me with the damp of the dew when I had laid down. ‘ Well, Spence,’ said I, going up to the wheel, ‘ here I am you tee ; easier to arouse than you.’ ‘‘ I’m a man,’ lie answered, ‘ to manage wilh cut much sleep ; but when once I’m down, mi-sis, and snorin’, I’m rare ’un to thicken.’ ‘ What time is it ?’ I asked. ‘ Abo it twelve minutes arter four,’ he replied, pulling out the watch and giving to me. ‘ Has the wind kept steady ?’ I inquired, looking for the moon, and finding that sho was gone. ‘ Ay,’ he answered ; * steady as a house.’ ‘I he binnaclo lamp burns lows,’ said I taking his place at the wheel ; but don’t bother to trim it. I dare say it will last till tbe break of tho dawn, whi h cannot -bo far off. Do you think you can manage to enter tbe cabin and lie down without dislurbiug the captain ? He’s sound asleep, and I want to s’eep. But there’s no light.’ ‘ Ob, I’ll manage, misses,’ said he. * Where shall I find the end of the line ?’ ‘ On the mattrass. You’ll feel it after groping a little.’ ‘ Well, good night again, ’m,’ said he, and vanished in the darkness. I found the wind a trifle lighter than when I bad left the deck. The sky had the deep pitchy gloom it will take before the dawn, and some of the stars shone with almost startling brilliance. The sea, too. was not so phosphoric as it had been, possibly because there was less wind to agitate it, and it made a shadow under the stars that would have been dreadful for a much stouter heart than mine to behold, in the situation wo were then in. I looked round and round the darkness in the hope of seeing the lights of a ship, and very soon afterl had taken the wheel I'perceived what I was' so sure was the red lantern or port light of a ship, that my heart began to beat faT, just as it did when I sighted the si a low before miduight ; but I did not dare let go ihe wheel again to get tho telescope, neither had I the heart to bring Spence on deck ; I therefore stood staring wi li all my might, and with every pulse in my body hammering sharply, until by observing that the light never shifted its position by so much as a hair’s breath’s away from n star that hung just over it and that it would sometimes twinkle, and even lose its reddish color ar d become yellow, I discovered that it was no more than a star.

Alas ! how often have such appearances deceived and helped to craze the brain of the poor phipwrecked mariner !' Unless you have gone through the experience yourself you cannot know the anguish caused by these illusions. The sailor half-mad with thirst, upon some water-logged vessel tr in some little open b at, turns his glazed eye upon the sea and searches the des ,la<e- and lone’y horizon yet once m ire for a ship. Then a sudden transport of joy forces a dreadful laugh ng shi-ut from him.. ‘ A sail !’ he cries huskily, and mad'ly points His broken-hearted, dying comrades struggle to their to their feet, and behold, with the light ( of life rekindled in their glazed eyes, a little gleaming white object that looks to be the canvas of a vessel indeed, bearb gj right down. But it grows fast, and as it rists it loses its shape, and the miserable seamen fling themselves down with dying moans into the bottom of the boat, as they sec that what they took to be a ship is but a cloud, I) have gone through it. I know what that disapointment s, and solemnly declare that Icannot co nceive of any kind of mental anguish comparable to the agony that is wrought in the mind of shipwrecked persons by these deceptions of clouds and stars. To my inexpressible comfort the dawn broke, after I had been standing at the wheel a little wlii'e. The sky in the-e; si. chan.e irrom a faint green into a light j>i"k, and from that into radiant rose, as though the hues of a prhm were being flashed upon the heavens m that quarter ; and gazing'uitently round the ocean circle that still stood dark against the illuminated sky, I spied, dead to leeward, a little forward of the beam, dim, white object which the searching beam of tlie sun tliut rose at that moment showed to lea sail. The several disappoinments I had gone through, however, under th's head kept me quiet and thinking and'looking cau i usly. It rnigh prove any thing-else than wlat I thought it ; or, if it we-e a ship then she was a great deal too far off to signal, and might cheat our hopes by passing awavs, as tbe other had done. But after waiting a little,, and o' ser-'ing that the object remained stationa y, I lit go the wheel a second to take down the gla-s, and then grasping the spokes aia'n bef re the wheel had time to move- —fn- it certainly would not do-to let the-brig come aback evrey time we sighted a sail—l pointed tho glass with one Land contriving 10 keep it sufficiently steady to enable me to perceive that what taken to the topmost canvas of a ship whose hull was below the horizon, was tbe lug sail of a boat about four or five miles distant from us.

I could scarcely credit my senses at first, for the circumstance of a little sailing in these seas, with some hundreds of miles of water betweenua and the nearest land, seemed truly extraordinary ; but then it came into my mind that the people in her had perhaps b.-en shipwrecked ; and this brought the further notion that, let them be what they might, they would certainly be able to help us to navigate the brig to someporf. I was determined, however, not to let my excitement govern me. I put down the glas", and softly pulled the line attached to Spence. This time he answered at once, by jerking the line at his end, just as I had done to let him know that I was awake and coming; and in a few minutes he arrived. i I Do you see that ?’ I exclaimed, pointing over tlie ice beam. ‘Ay !' cried he breathlessly, rounding his eyes and clasping his hands ; ‘ it’s a sail !’ ‘ Hold this wheel, Spence, whilst I examine her,’ said I. Ae came to the wheel, and I took the glass on to the top of the cabin, and resting it and kneeling down, had along look at tbe beat. She had altered her course, evident’y the moment she saw us, luffing and heading up so as to strike us at an angle. The swell that ran towards her hid her at intervals, nor was it possible at that distance to distinguish more than the sail and hull of her. I told Spence what she was, and then inquired if rr.y husband was awake. On hearing that he was, I came down from tbe top of the deck house and Iran into the cabin. Richard raised liis.liead as I entered, and, seeing in my face that I had news, cal'ei out eagerly, *ls there a ship in sight, Je»sie ?’ ‘ Not a ship, but an open boat, Richard.’ ’An open boat ?’ be cried. ‘ How does she boar ?’ I told him. ‘ Are there any people in her ?’ ‘ I cannot tell yet. She is too far off,’ I answered. ‘ Have you put t.l e helm up—aro you lunning down to her V ‘ No,’ I replied. * Then do so, my darling, at once !’ he cried raising himself on to his elbows in his excite meat, ‘ We must pick her up for, though there is but one man in her, he is bound to be a God-send to us.’