The Promotion of the Admiral (continued 2)

"There's talk and there's a fore-topsail-yard-ahoy voice for you," said Benson. "Oh, Mr. Smith will be looked after, he will. Now, chaps, pull for it, or the admiral will be waitin', and if that 'appens, 'twill be 'Stand from under.'"

THE POLICY OF THE POTLUCK.

Concerning the permanent and immutable characteristics of ships, the unhappy man who has never had his limited range of vision broadened by a trip in a sailing ship must of necessity know little. He probably falls into the fallacy, common even among those who follow the sea, that a partial or entire clearance of her "crowd" will quite alter her nature; whereas sailors being sailors—that is, people of certain fairly definite attributes—any given environment makes them much the same as those who preceded them.

But entire changes in the personnel of a vessel rarely take place. The officers change, but the crew remains: the crew goes, but officers stay. Or more frequently some few men are favourites of one or two of the officers, and they mingle with the new crew like yeast, till the ancient fermentation is visible once more.

Ships (to speak thus of their companies) talk of the same subjects over a million miles of changing seas: they have a permanent stock of subjects. These include all which are perennially of interest to seafaring men, such as homes versus boarding-houses, but they include also something more individual, something more intimately connected with the essence of that particular vessel. And the one unending topic of interest on board the Potluck was foreign politics.

How this came about no one knew, though many theories were set afloat and sunk again every Sunday afternoon. Some said that the first captain of the Potluck was called Palmerstone, and that he introduced the subject of England versus the world as soon as he came on board. Others swore that they had been told by a clerk in the employ of the firm that there had been a discussion over her very keel concerning the introduction into her frame of foreign oaks.

"This was the way of it," said Jack Hart, who was the chief upholder of this particular theory, and the son of a little shipbuilder—"the lot that built her at Liverpool was the mixedest crowd of forsaken cranks as ever handled timber. So the clerk said. And one had a hankerin' for teak and another for hoak (with odd leanin's now and agin for Hafrican and Portugee and French hoak), and another he said 'Cuban Sabicu,' and another's word was 'Hackmatack' and 'chestnut' hevery time. So they shoved in bits here and bits there till she was a reg'lar junk-shop o' samples. And that's the reason she's a foreign talking argument ship. And a mighty good reason too."

The crowd listened in silence.

"If you knew as much about arguin' as you know (seemin'ly) about timbers as no man ever heerd of, your argument might stand," said Mackenzie, a withered old foc'sle man. "But it ain't to reason as the natur' of the woods in a ship should make us talk this way or that. If so be a ship was built o' teak, d'ye think we'd talk the 'jildy jow,' you black 'son of a gun' lingo?"

Hart shook his head.

"No ship ain't never built all of teak as I ever heerd of, and so your eye's out, Mac. But a man with 'arf an eye could see the knowledge of her bein' so built might lead right hup to talk about the stren'ths of the countries as well of the vally of their timbers."

"So they might," said the almost convinced crowd. "Now Jack Hart 'as the gift, so to speak, of seein' through things."

"And once started, who'd stop it?" asked Jack triumphantly. "I knowed a ship as 'ad fresh crowd after fresh crowd in her, but she for ever 'ad a black cat aboard. And they talked 'cat' to make you sick. And I knowed another as 'ad from launch to her hultimate pilin' up in the Bermudas the fashion of calling the skipper the 'Guffin.' And hevery skipper was the 'Guffin,' new and old, go or stay. But when we broke hoff to hargue, why, we was talkin' about them French jossers and whether Sallis-bury was a-goin' to let 'em chip into our game and straddle the Nile."

"That's so," said the crowd, and the House was rough.

Meanwhile, the skipper, or "old man" (who henceforward, by the way, was called the "Guffin"), and his two mates were discussing the latest aspect of world politics, as they drank whiskey and water.

"What's wrong with Salisbury," said the Guffin, who was as stout as a barrel and as sturdy, "is, that he ain't got a backbone. He just lets 'em blow him about like so much paper. What he wants is stiffenin': he's like a sprung spar. That's what he's like."

The mate, a tough-looking dog with hair like anæmic tussac grass in patches on his face, shook his head.

"I've a greater opinion of him, captain, than you have. All his double shuffle is cunning. It's getting back so's to lead them French on. Mark me, he'll play them yet a fair knock-out."

The Guffin sneered.

"He may have cunnin', Lampert, but he ain't no real tact. Now, diplomatic tact, I take it, is not givin' way into the gutter, but just showin' as you're a nice pleasant-spoken chap as don't mean to be put on. It's my good opinion as these foreigners don't yearn to fight us. And men like you and me, Lampert, gets to learn the way of handlin' foreigners. Who has so much experience with 'em as them in command of English ships?"

"That's so," said the second mate, who had been listening. "Now last v'y'ge in the Battleaxe, there was a Dago in my watch as come from the betwixt and between land where Spain jines France. And he was the Dagoest Dago I ever sailed with. But I knew the breed, and the first time he opens his garlicky mouth I hauled off and hit him. And then I took his knife away and snapped the point off. And I says to him, 'Now, you black beggar, every time at muster you'll show me that knife, and there'll be peace in the land.' And he done so, and there was peace."

The captain (or "Guffin") smote his thigh.

"You're right, Simcox, you're right, and if Salisbury was to take a leaf out of your log-book in respects of handlin' Dagoes, 'twould be better for all concerned. But no, not him. He goes on seein' them French make a fleet and he lets 'em! He actually sees 'em with their fleet sharpenin' on the grindstone and never says from the poop, 'Chuck that overboard, you swine, or I'll come and 'andle you so's you'll be glad to die.'"

The second mate was much gratified, as was obvious by his standing first on one foot and then on another. But Lampert was not so pleased.

"Why, you talk—you, captain and you, Simcox—as if they had a fleet. Why, it's my opinion—and experts say 'ditto' to me there—that a string o' band-boxes with crackers in 'em, and all on a mud-flat, would do as much harm as the French fleet—unless they blows up when we takes 'em."

The Guffin shook his head.

"Well, you know, Lampert, as I never 'ad no opinion of their fleet. But that ain't the question. Salisbury may have 'is reasons for not takin' it away, though I fails to see 'em; but the real question is, why we don't have a man with guts and go in command. It's my firm belief as there's many a merchant captain as could work the diplomatic game to better hadvantage. Look at the experience we has, dealing with owners contrary as hell, and with consignees and with 'arbour-masters and pilots. Where Salisbury is wrong, is in his not goin' about and freshin' up his mind. And he works by rule o' thumb and dead reckoning. It ain't no wonder we can see where's his eye's out."

"It ain't," said the compliant Simcox.

"Well," sighed Lampert, "I owns freely as I don't feel that sure I'd like to run his show."

The Guffin laughed.

"But you ain't 'ad my experience yet, Lampert. Now, I'd hundertake to come right down into the harena, and make them French and Germans sit up like monkeys on a horgan while I played the tune."

"I believe you," said Simcox, rubbing his hard hands.

"Look at the difficulties we 'as to contend with," said the skipper, with a rapidly thickening utterance and an increasing loss of aspirates—"look at the vig'lance we 'as to use. Rocks and shoals and hother ships. It's 'igh education to be a master-mariner, and the Board of Trade knows it—knows it well. This 'ere crowd's all English except that one Dutchman, but if so be we'd English and Dagoes, and Dutchmen and Calashees, I'd 'ave showed you and Salisbury 'ow to 'andle mixed sweets. Vig'lance, difficulties, bright look-out, and the rule o' the road. And look at the chart! That's me!"

And very shortly afterwards the triple conversation ceased, for the captain lay snoring in his cabin.

The Potluck was a barque of eleven hundred tons' register, and was bound for Adelaide, with a general cargo of all mixed things under heaven and on earth. Now she was engaged in running down her easting, and, as her skipper believed, was somewhere about Lat. 44° 30' S., Long. 50° E., and not far off the Crozets. The westerly winds were blowing hard, but had the worst chill of winter off, for the month was September. Nevertheless, as old Jones, the skipper, was on a composite track, with a maximum latitude of 45° S., and was bound farther south still it might have been to the advantage of all concerned if he had drunk less, talked little, and minded his own business instead of arguing foreign politics.

But to each man Fate often gives his chance of proving what he boasts to be his particular skill in the universe.

When Lampert relieved Simcox at midnight, the weather was thick, and neither man's temper was of the sweetest, so they had a bit of a breeze.

"What kind of a relief d'ye call this?' growled Simcox.

"I call it a very good relief," replied Lampert, "and a darned sight better one than you deserve. You owe me ten minutes even now."

He looked down the scuttle at the clock.

"Why, you owe me twenty."

Simcox flew out with pretended politeness.

"Oh, make it half an hour! Don't let's haggle about such a trifle. What's it matter if I stand here waiting? Can't I keep the whole bloomin' watch for you?"

"Go to hell," said Lampert sulkily.

And Simcox went below.

"To be a sailor is to be a natural born fool," said Lampert, addressing the bitter and unkindly elements at large, "and to be on board a ship with such a windy gassing crowd, from the old man down to the cook, is very trying. It's very trying."

The wind took off a little later, but the weather was still thickish.

"It's like lookin' through a haystack," grunted Lampert, "but there, bar an island or so there's nothing to speak of in our way. And if the skipper will crack on, and it a week since we saw the sun, it's the owners' look out, not mine."

He spoke with a certain bitterness, as though he would really enjoy being wrecked, in the trust that the Potluck was not insured, and that old Jones would get his certificate cancelled, or at least suspended.

"'Twould give the old ass time to study foreign politics," sneered Lampert, as it breezed up again.

And five minutes' later, while Lampert was lighting his pipe half-way down the cabin stairs, he heard a bellow forward which made him drop thoughts of tobacco.

"Breakers ahead!"

The watch came out on deck and ran aft; and were followed by the watch below in various articles of attire, not calculated to keep them very warm.

The Potluck had been running with the wind nearly dead aft.

"Starboard, starboard!" roared Lampert. "Oh, steady; hold her there!"

The vessel ran off to port at a sharp angle to her wake.

"Up here some," yelled the mate, "and set the spanker! Stand by the—— My God!"

And, as old Jones and Simcox came on deck, the Potluck was hard and fast ashore. With one simultaneous crack the three topmasts went over the side, and as the men and officers jumped under the shelter of the weather rail, Lampert and those of the watch who were with him came tumbling down from the poop. They reckoned on a boiling sea coming after and sweeping them away. But though the malignity native to matter had set the Potluck ashore, by good luck she was hard and fast in the one sheltered cove on the island. When Lampert by instinct altered her course to port, as he heard the coast breakers at the starboard bow, he had run her in between two ledges of rock, of which the outer or more westerly one acted as a complete breakwater.

The skipper, who had been lying flat when the others jumped for the main deck, got up and crawled forward to the break of the poop. He was half-paralysed with a mixture of funk and rage. He addressed himself and his remarks to the sky, the sea, and the island, but above all to Lampert.

"You man-drowning, slop-built caricature of a sailorman, what 'ave you bin and done with my ship?" he bellowed. "Oh, Lord, I'm a ruined man; by gosh, I'll murder you!"

He tumbled down on the main deck and made for Lampert, who easily dodged him.

"Shut up, you old idiot!" said the mate contemptuously. "Who but me told you that if you drove her in thick weather, and no sun seen for a week, you'd pile her up?"

Simcox caught Jones and held him.

"Good lord, sir," said the second greaser, "it's no time to fight."

"No, it ain't," said Jack Hart boldly.

That a foremast hand should dare to shove his oar in, almost cowed the poor old Guffin. It was something out of nature.

"It ain't no time for jawbation," insisted Hart, about whom the others had gathered. "It's time for thinkin' out the politics of the situation, and if I'm not mistaken we shall be able to walk ashore by the morning, and there won't be no ship for any one to command—so what's the use of jaw? I say get up stores, eh, Mackenzie?"

"Don't ask me," said old Mac. "I was thinkin' that mighty soon we'd be able to settle that question about the buildin' of the Potluck."

And as by this time Jones was calming down and was rather inclined to cry, Lampert came up to the restive crowd.

"You dry up, Hart," he said roughly. "Until the ship's broken up, you're on the articles. Say another word and I'll break your jaw."

"Yes, sir," said Hart respectfully.

Until dawn they loafed about the deck and in the cabin and foc'sle, discussing whether they were on one of the Crozets or what, and whether they would stay long there, and if so what, and so on.

And just as the dawn broke over the island they got an awful surprise. They saw a man standing on the low cliff on about a level with the jagged splinters of the fore-topmast where it had gone short in the cap.

"The bloomin' hisland's in'abited," cried a foremast hand, and every one rushed forward to interview the gesticulating stranger.

"Wod's the bloke say?" asked the crowd. "Oh, say it again!" And the stranger said it again.

But the crowd shook a unanimous head.

"I believe the silly galoot don't talk English," cried Hart; "'ere, where's Dutchy?"

They shoved their one "Dutchman" forward, and after some interchange of utter un-intelligibilities, listened to by every one with bated breath, Hermann turned round.

"I not versteh, captain. I denk him ein French."

The Frenchman was joined by two or three more, and then by a dozen.

"Why, they're all French," said the disgusted crowd. "What's Frenchmen doin' on any island of ours?"

And until the sea went down, which it did sufficiently to allow them to get ashore at about ten o'clock, they discussed the question as to whether the Crozets were English or not. It was settled by old Mackenzie.

"All islands as don't belong to any one belongs to us," he said; "it was arranged so by Disraeli."

They got ashore with some risk, and were greeted by the Frenchman in the most amiable way.

"Poor beggars!" said the crew; "it must be 'ard on a soft lot of things like them to be on a des'late hisland. Ain't it a wonder Froggies ever goes to sea? But does they belong 'ere, or was they piled hup same's hus?"

Hart found himself alongside a Frenchman with a long red Liberty cap on, and a big pair of ear-rings in his ears.

"Goddam," said the Frenchman.

"That's what we say," cried Hart. "Here, you chaps, he speaks English."

"Hurrah!" said the crowd.

"I spike Engelish," nodded the stranger.

"How'd you come 'ere?" asked the eager chorus.

The Frenchman nodded.

"Goddam!" he said, smiling. "Ship! Por'smout'—London! I spick En'lish."

"Well, then," said Hart desperately, "just dry up with your mixed hogwash, and spit it all out free as to 'ow you came 'ere, and wot the name o' this bally rock is, and who's its in'abitants. Now, give it lip!"

"Hart's a nateral born speaker, and 'as a clear 'ead," said the crowd. "'E puts it in a nutshell, and don't run to waste in words."

But the Frenchman looked puzzled.

"Comb wiz," he said; "spik En'lish besser," and he pointed over the low rise.

"Steady!" said Hart; "boys, I'm not clear as to whether we hain't bein' led hinto a hambush. It hain't nateral for shipwrecked Englishmen to find Frenchies shipwrecked too!"

"It ain't," said the crew suspiciously.

"And even if it's all right, we bein' strangers might be led into makin' a treaty without knowin' all there is to know. I vote waitin' till the officers comes up."

They squatted down on rocks and on the lumps of tussac grass till the captain and the two mates came along with the rest of the Frenchmen. Hart communicated his suspicions to the skipper, who was decidedly under the influence of alcohol.

"That's all right," said the Guffin thickly. "We can manage Frenchmen. They ain't goin' to make no French Shore question on no more of our islands. One Newfoundland's enough for me. I'll show you n'gotiations—'gotiashuns is my forte!" And he led the way over the hill. Below them they saw the wreck of a French barquantine.

"Blimy," said the crowd, with a frown, "if they 'aven't got the best part of our hisland!"

It was not to be endured by any lot of Englishmen under the sun, that the best part of this rock should be occupied by their natural foes, and soon there was evidence that in any attempt to turn the Frenchmen out the British leader would have a united nation at his back.

The Guffin and the two mates argued it, and Lampert was the Opposition.

"W'y, wot's this you're sayin'?" asked the disgusted skipper; "did I think to 'ave shipped a Verning 'Arcourt among my lot? You're a Little Englander, and nothin' but it, Lampert."

"They was here first," said Lampert obstinately.

"But the hisland is British ground," urged Simcox, "and where our flag flies no Frenchman can have the best. We gives 'em liberty to trade, and they can take what's left. What for have we always beat 'em if we're to give in now?"

"Continuosity of foreign politics is my motter," said the skipper. "With continuosity and joodishus firmness, and a polite 'hout o' this,' you'll see 'em listen to reason, and evacuate. I shall send hin my hultimatum this very afternoon. And you, Simcox, shall be hambassador."

Simcox looked anxious.

"Well, captain, I was thinking it would be judicious policy to send in the Dutchman. It will remind them that Europe is more or less agin them, and to have a Dutchman here will make 'em think twice afore they elects for war."

The skipper shook his head.

"No, Simcox, it looks judicious on the surface, but takin' deeper thought it ain't. It would aggerawate them, and that ain't policy. We fights if we must, but don't start it by doin' anythin' unpleasin' more'n askin' for our rights. And in n'gotiashuns it ain't policy to remind 'em deliberate of the time the Prooshians beat 'em. And moreover it's accordin' to no tradition I've heard of to send a furriner as hambassador. No, Simcox, you shall go. I'll draw up the hultimatum at once."

He returned on board the wreck of the Potluck, and in company with a bottle of brandy strove with the situation, while the crowd and their spokesman, Hart, argued like a House of Commons.

"It ain't any good talkin'," said Jack, "and hevery one knows that give a Frenchman the chance of hargument he'll talk a government mule's 'ind leg off. 'Hout of this,' is the on'y hargument a Frenchman hunderstands."

"But they seems to be a good many more of 'em than us," suggested the crowd.

"Come to that," said Hart, "it's the on'y just ground we 'as to go for 'em. For if they was on'y ekal numbers, it'd be cowardly to whack 'em, and I for one would be on the side of just goin' down there and shovin' them out peaceful. I'm for the hultimatum right off. I wonder 'ow the Guffin will put it. Say, boys, 'ere 'e comes!"

The "old man" staggered up with a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Have you done it, sir?" asked Simcox. "Let's hear it."

"Yes, read it out," said Lampert, with half a sneer, which the skipper did not notice.

The crowd gathered round as the captain squatted on a rock.

"On board the British barque Potluck, belonging to the British port Liverpool; owners, McWattie & Co.; Captain Abednego Jones.

"MR. SIMCOX,—Sir——"

"Eh, what?" said the astounded Simcox.

"It's addressed to you, Simcox," said the skipper blandly.

"Why?" asked Simcox.

The skipper shook his head impatiently.

"I thought you'd 'ave knowed, Simcox. You're the hambassador, and you've to communicate this to 'em."

"Oh, go on, sir," said the crowd.

The skipper resumed:

"MR. SIMCOX,—Sir, you'll be so good as to be so kind as to communicate the contents of this 'ere letter to them French of the wreck we don't know the name of, and tell them to clear. For there ain't no reasonable grounds for supposin' this ain't a British hisland (seeing that mostly all hislands is) and they've by comin' 'ere first got and taken possession of the best bit of it, which can't be allowed, as it's contrary to law in such case made and purvided. So you'll inform 'em it ain't goin' to be put up with, and they must evacuate immejit and resume the statues quo——"

"What's that?" asked Simcox.

"It's Latin, you unutterable ass," said the skipper, with a look of withering contempt.

"I don't know Latin," said the poor second mate.

"And who expected it of you?" asked the skipper. "It means that things are to go on as they was afore they come:

"——resume the statues quo, and don't stand no hargument. You are to tell 'em it will be considered an unfriendly hact, and that we 'as cleared for haction in consequence of not believing them such cowards as to quit. But quit they must, and no mistake, or we resort without delay to the arbitrage and general haverage of war. Given this day on board the British barque Potluck by me,

"CAPTAIN ABEDNEGO JONES."

"First rate!" said the crew. "That'll give 'em the jumps."

"And how am I to translate it?" asked the miserable Simcox.

"That's your look-out," said the Guffin, with a hiccup. "Shall I keep a dog and bark myself? Now, 'urry and get it hover. And let hevery one 'ave a weapon, 'andspikes and belayin' pins. Now go, Simcox!"

"Hart, come along with me," said Simcox.

And as the "old man" was engaged in keeping his balance, he made no objection.

"I think this is a herror of judgment, sir," said Hart; "my hidea of a hultimatum was jumpin' on 'em unexpected, and givin' 'em toko afore they know'd where they was. My notion of fightin' (and it pays hevery time) is to haggravate your man till he's ready to 'it, but to 'it 'im fust. An' if I thinks a cove will 'it me in five minutes, I lets no time go by in hanticipatin' 'im. But this will warn 'em."

"But they have no one who really knows English, Hart," groaned Simcox; "and I don't know the first word of French."

"Never mind, sir," said Hart encouragingly. "I've 'ad many a row with a Frenchy, and I never knowed my 'avin' not the least notion of what 'e meant ever stopped the fight from comin' off. If so be I see you get stuck, I'll come in, sir."

And they were met by the French sailor who thought he spoke English.

"I spik En'lish, goddam," said the Frenchman. "Leaverpool, Por'smout'; mais le capitaine spik besser."

"Good-mornin'," said Simcox meekly to the French captain, a long unhappy looking man, who might have been the skipper of a chasse-marée for all the style he put on.

"Mais, oui——" said the captain.

"This 'ere paper is for you," said Simcox, "and by the powers I hope you can't read it."

He handed the ultimatum to the Frenchman, who studied it while his crew came round.

"Je ne peux pas le lire, monsieur," he said at length.

Simcox turned to Hart.

"There, now what the blazes am I to do when he talks that way?"

"Just hexplain it," said Hart, as he helped himself to a chew. "Say, 'Hout o' this!'"

"It means you've got to go," said Simcox; "you can't be allowed to stay in the best part of our island."

"Goddam," cried the Frenchman, with his hand in his hair. "I spik English, two, tree word: pilote, feesh, shannel, owaryo!"

"Owaryo?" asked Simcox.

"That's his way o' sayin' 'How are you?'" interjected Hart, who was contemptuously sizing up the French sailors.

"Ah, how are you?" said Simcox.

"Owaryo," replied the French captain, smiling.

"Very well, thanks," said Simcox; "but I'm the ambassador."

"Ma foi, ambassadeur! You spik Français?"

"And you've just got to get," added Simcox.

"March!" cried Hart.

The Frenchmen "jabbered" a bit among themselves.

"Quoi donc? Marcher?" asked their skipper.

"We, old son," said Hart; "marshay if you like. Just pack up and quit. We gives you an hour to gather up your dunnage. Now do you understand?"

Whether the Frenchmen understood or not it was tolerably obvious they did not like the tone with which Hart spoke, or the looks of evident disfavour he cast at them. The captain turned away.

"Stop!" said Hart, and he went in for a dumb pantomime, in which he vaguely suggested that over yonder hill was an army of Englishmen.

"And we mean 'avin' our rights," he ended with. And just then old Jones appeared in sight.

"Are they jossers goin' to evacuate or not?" he bellowed. "What's their captain say to the statues quo? Don't they know the first thing about diplomatics? Tell 'em that to prepare for peace we makes war."

"War it is," said Hart, and he launched himself at a crowd of Frenchmen, as his mates came tumbling down the hill.

The fight was short, sharp, and pretty decisive, for the Potluck's crowd numbered ten able seamen, one ordinary seaman, and two boys, or with the captain and the two mates, sixteen in all. Against this array there were twenty-one Frenchmen, and though Hart, in his first onslaught, knocked down two, he was himself stretched out by a third armed with a broken hand-spike. And Simcox fled with the infuriated foreigners at his heels. The true battle (for this was but an affair of outposts) joined on the crest of the rise, and in five minutes the English were in flight for the shelter of the piled-up Potluck. Old Jones was keeled over once, but Lampert and Mackenzie dragged him away and got him down to the ship. He swore most terribly.

"'Ere's a pretty kettle o' fish," said he at last; "a pretty lot I 'as to my back to let a few Frenchies lick 'em this way. What's the good o' diplomatics if my men 'asn't the guts to support me? Where's that Simcox?"

"Here, sir," said the ambassador.

"Who told you to start a row?" demanded the skipper. "Don't you know your duty? You was to give 'em the hultimatum and retire dignified. Do you call it retirin' dignified to run and beller like a bull-calf?"

Simcox looked sulky and injured.

"How was I to look dignified with six of 'em after me—and two with knives and one with a meat-chopper?" he asked. "And as for startin' a rough house, 'twas Hart as done it."

"Where's Hart?" yelled the Guffin.

"'Ere, 'Art, where are you?" said the crowd.

"I believe he's a prisoner," said Lampert.

"Oh, Lord," said the crowd, "but Jack never 'ad no discretion."

"We must 'ave him liberated," said the skipper firmly. "No man of mine must be in the 'ands of them mutilatin' French. Simcox, you'll 'ave to go to 'em again and open n'gotiashuns!"

"No, sir," said Simcox, "if you'll excuse me, I'll do nothin' of the sort. I've had my fill up of bein' ambassador."

"This is mut'ny," said the skipper; "but under the painful national circumstances I shan't do nothin' but order you to your cabin, where you'll consider yourself in custody."

Simcox looked greatly relieved, and went without delay.

"Mr. Lampert, you'll be hambassador," said the old man, after a drink of brandy.

The mate looked the skipper up and down.

"I'll see you further first," he cried. "'Twas you that started the row and the trouble, and you can get out of it as you like."

"This is rank mut'ny," said the skipper, "and you could be 'ung for refusin' duty. But under the painful nash'nal circumstances you can retire to your cabin and be your own bloomin' policeman till peace is restored, when I'll try you and sentence you, you run and scuttle swine you."

"Oh, that's all right," said the mate contemptuously.

"Now, men," said the skipper thickly, "what I wants is 'earty support. Who'll volunteer for to be hambassador?"

The crew looked at each other and shook their heads. They scuffled with uneasy feet on the lopsided deck.

"They're standin' upon the 'ill as thick as pea-sticks," said one of the boys.

"Speak hup," roared the skipper.

The crew shoved old Mac in front.

"We've revolved the notion up and over," said Mac, "and we've come to the conclusion, sir, there ain't nothin' to be got by sendin' ignorant men like we on such errands."

The skipper hiccupped angrily.

"Who asted you to think? But I ain't the man to press unwilling lubbers into goin' aloft, I can lead the way. Go into the fo'castle, you dogs, and consider yourselves under arrest. Go!"

"Blimy," said the crowd, "but we're all in our own custody, so we are. Now what's the old man goin' to do?"

They watched him from the fo'castle as he staggered into his own part of the ship.

"I'll be my own hambassador," said Jones. "I'll show 'em 'ow to work things with dignity; I'll show that ass Lampert what's o'clock. What you wants in such cases made and provided is tact, and go, and innerds. Innerds is the chief need. Why fight if palaver'll do? Where I was wrong was to send a galoot like Simcox. But what could I do but work the best with the tools I 'ad? If I'd gone myself, we'd 'ave made peace afore there was a row."

He came staggering out of the cabin with a case of brandy and laid it on the after capstan.

"I guess I'll have a boy," said Jones. "'Ere, you scum, send me Billy." And Billy came aft.

"I releases you temp'ry without bail," said the skipper fiercely, "so puckalow that case and foller me. No, you wait till I gets a tablecloth as a signal I'm willin' to 'ave peace."

When he came out with a cloth he went ashore and stumbled up the hill, followed by the boy Billy, bearing the case of brandy. He found the crew of the Frenchmen lining the crest, and heard them talk.

"Say, Johnny French," said old Jones, "if you wants war, prepare for peace. Who's the captain?"

"Sapristi!" said the French captain.

Jones nodded.

"Give it up, old son. It warn't my fault, if relyin' on the discretion of ambassadors ain't a fault: and maybe you can swaller the hultimatum with some real good brandy throwed in. And is your name Sapristi?"

"Nom de Dieu——" began the Frenchman, but Jones waved his hand with dignity.

"Call yourself what you like, but 'ave you got anythin' in the way of a marlinspike or a splice bar as'll open this yer case?"

The foreigners, perceiving that the Englishman was on an errand of peace, gathered about the case, and soon discovered from the stencilled inscription that it at any rate pretended to come from Cognac.

"Goddam," said the little red-capped Frenchman who had first discovered them. "Cognac! I spik English—brandee, Por'smout', Lon-don!"

Jones made signs that he presented the case to them.

"I ain't above makin' a concession or two," he remarked confidentially to the French captain; "but if I'd listened to my lot on board, it would 'ave been blood up to the neck."

The Frenchman shook his head.

"You bet it would 'ave bin," said Jones earnestly, "but what d'ye say to 'avin' a drink? Billy, gimme your knife."

And with it he started opening the case, while the Frenchmen's eyes gleamed in pleasing anticipation. They had not had a drink for weeks. And as they carried the case down to the ship with Jones and their own captain in the rear, they concluded that the English were not such bad chaps after all.

"But where's my man 'Art!" asked Jones, when he came to the French camp.

"'Ere I be," cried Hart, who was lashed hard and fast to a round rock. "Lord, captain, but I've 'ad a time. Can't you cut me adrift, sir?"

Jones shook his head.

"You interferin' galoot, it serves you right. And as for that, the 'ole crew's under arrest, where I put 'em for mut'ny, and I don't see as I should so pick and choose among 'em as to use my hinfluence to 'ave you let go. At any rate, bide a bit, and I'll see."

For it was obvious that the drinking was going to begin. The French captain served the liquor out in a small glass to every one, and presently some of his melancholy disappeared. He gave an order to one of his men who brought two more glasses, one for the English captain, and one for himself.

"I looks towards you," said Jones.

"À votre santé," cried the Frenchman. "Monsieur, vous êtes un homme de coeur quand mêne."

"I don't savvy, but I dessay you means well," said the captain. "Now, if I'd thought to bring along the signal book we might 'ave 'ad quite a talk. But time enough; I dessay afore we're took off I shall patter your lingo like blazes. Shall I cut my man loose there?"

He pointed to Hart, and though two of the Frenchmen, who had black eyes, remonstrated against the deed of mercy, Hart was unlashed and given a drink.

"Here's to you, old cocklywax," said Hart, with a scrape of his leg. "I bears no grudge, not me."

And very soon the French and English skippers were talking to each other at the rate of knots, while Hart sat in a crowd of Frenchmen and told them all about everything.

It was close on sundown when Jones returned to the Potluck. He had to be helped up the side by some of the crew.

"Ain't we under arrest?" they asked. "Does we dare come out?"

Jones hiccupped.

"I releases you on your own recognition," he said. "So down you come and 'elp."

When he put his foot on the deck, he mustered all hands aft.

"And you, Lampert, and you, Simcox!"

The two mates came out of their cabins.

"And where's Hart?"

"If you please, sir, he's drunk," said Billy.

"Arrest 'im," said the skipper; "what's 'e mean by it? Now, look 'ere, you bally lot, what does you think of yourselves?"

The crew appeared uneasy.

"I went all by my lone," said the skipper, hanging on to the poop ladder, "all by my lone I went, and I brings back peace! Do you 'ear? But when I sent you, what use was you? I released 'Art, who's repaid me by bein' unable to see an 'ole in a ladder; and I've concluded a treaty of peace and friendship with the French. Next time (if so be a German ship comes ashore) I'll go out as my own hambassador. No, Simcox, never more! No, Lampert, never, never more! I just speaks to that French crowd, and they are civil and drink fair. They recognised they'd met their match. Their skipper says, says he, 'Captain Jones, I owns fair and square I'm not your ekal at diplomatics.' He adds, moreover, 'Captain Jones, damn me if I believe your match is to be found.' And I says, with dignity (with dignity, Simcox), 'Right you are!' That's what I says. And as for you, you ratty galoots, you'll treat 'em when you meets 'em just the same as if they wasn't French. Do you 'ear me? That's my hultimatum. Now you can go. That'll do the watch."

He turned to the mates.

"I thought better of you two, so I did," he remarked sadly. "But there, you 'aven't 'ad my experience, and when I gets 'ome I shall see as them that is in power at the Furrin Office 'ears 'ow I done it. Salisbury ain't my stiffness of backbone, and 'e ain't my tact. If so be as 'e was to invite them Frenchmen to dinner, it would be different. They knows (as the French captain owned to me; fair and square 'e owned it) they don't 'ave no nat'ral right to hislands and col'nies. Make the Frenchmen's 'omes 'appy and they'll stay at 'ome. Think it hout; you'll see 'ow it could be done. There now, that'll do you. I disarrest you!"

And the "old man" rolled cheerfully for his cabin.

"By my lone I done it!" said the Guffin.

THE CREW OF THE KAMMA FUNDER.

The stars of European science, who had been shining in a wonderful constellation over Quebec, were just about to leave Canada in that well-known comfortable liner, the Nipigon, when a most annoying thing happened. The cattle-ship Abbitibbe, never famous at any time for minding her helm, got her steam steering gear jammed as she was passing the Nipigon, and took a wide sheer to port when she should have altered her course to starboard. The peaceful preparations of the passenger boat were broken up, and her crew received the wild charge of the Abbitibbe with curses, which, though effectual in heating the atmosphere, were no use as a fender. The Nipigon was cut down to the water's edge, and the scientific lights of Europe were much put out. They hurried ashore in the most irregular and unscientific manner, and, having sent others for their baggage, began to make preparations for going to New York, as no other good passenger boat was leaving the St. Lawrence for a week.

But Nature, possibly out of revenge for the unseemly curiosity evinced by all men of science, was beforehand with them. Misfortunes, as was once observed by an intelligent, if pessimistic, anthropoid ape, never come singly. It was the twelfth of November, and a sudden blizzard, bringing all the snow it could carry, broke up communication with the south. If the men of science were to keep their appointments with their universities, it was necessary to sail from Canada at once. They shipped themselves under protest upon the Nemagosenda, of 2,900 tons register, which was little better than a tramp, and was commanded by Captain Joseph Prowse.

"Immortal Jehoshaphat!" said Captain Prowse; "here's a go! What, we with passengers? Oh, get out!"

"You've got to take 'em," said the agent philosophically; "maybe they'll teach you something, and it'll be a good advertisement."

"Gah'n!" said Prowse; "carryin' scientific jossers won't bring better freight next season. I wish you'd get me chock up with cattle. I can't stand scientists; my sister married one that was an 'erbalist in the Old Kent Road—and since he went to chokey I've lost conceit with science. However, if it must be—why, send 'em along!"

Captain Prowse was not a popular skipper with sailors. They said that he was a "hard nut" and a "sailor-robber," and that his American experience had made him nearly as deadly as any American captain with a belaying-pin. But sailors' experience only works backward: they are good at reminiscence only, and the Nemagosenda got a crew in spite of the captain's reputation. It is possible they would not have shipped if they had known that men of European light and leading were to come with them. Those who follow the sea have a great respect for knowledge, but they despise men in soft hats and spectacles. And it cannot be denied that scientific men are as a rule too simple and gentle to look as if they could take care of themselves. According to Jack, that is the first duty of man, though he premises naturally that even the toughest courage and the greatest skill may come to grief about women.

"A thunderin' measly lot," said Simpkins A.B. to his particular mate, when the scientific passengers came on board; "why, they've all soft 'ats but one! And long beards! And three out of four with specs! Holy sailor, what a gang!"

Harris nodded.

"Why, there's twenty of 'em, Bill, but I'll bet a plug of the best to an old chew that me and you goin' for 'em with belayin'-pins could do up the 'ole crowd in five minutes."

"You've sized 'em up," said Simpkins, with a sneer, and then the captain roared.

"Aye, aye, sir," said the mate. "Let go! All gone, sir! Now then, haul in." And the Nemagosenda went out into the stream.

It took some three days or so for the men of science to settle down. For during the first few days the pathology of sea-sickness occupied all their attention; they had no time for other things. But when their last all-night session was over, and they were seen again upon deck, the affairs of the Nemagosenda became interesting. The mate and the port watch developed long-threatened divergencies, and Captain Prowse came to the assistance of his chief officer with a brass belaying-pin. As the result of this the pathologist indulged in a little practical surgery, and a division arose in the scientific ranks. The political economist argued with the statistician.

"Statistics prove that the common sailor must be treated with sternness," said the authority in figures, "and it is our duty to support authority."

"The captain is a brute," said the political economist, "and for two pins I would tell him so. You cannot neglect the human factor——"

"Says political economy," sneered the statistician.

And then the geologist, who was a man of sense, said they were both talking rot. The discussion on the poop was broken up by the captain, who came on deck with a face like the north-west moon in a fog. Having demanded the presence of the crew aft, he gave them an address on their duties to their superiors.

"You think yourselves a fine lot of chaps," said the captain fiercely, "but my opinion of you is that you are a scaly crowd of wharf-rats, and all your relations of both sexes are no better than they should be. So look here, you swine, I'll have you know I'm Captain Joseph Prowse, and the man that gives any slack jaw to any officer of mine gives it to me. And the man that gives it to me will wish he was dead before he sees Liverpool. That's me. I'm Captain Joseph Prowse, so I am, and any crew under me has got to know it. I'm king here, and I'll wade in blood before I get off my throne. Mr. Watts, put this crawling lot to holy stoning the deck!"

And Captain Joseph Prowse rejoined his scientific passengers.

"All crews is the same, gentlemen," he said thickly; "there's something deep and dark in the nature of things as makes 'em so. Those that do the rough work on board ships are just so necessarily, and if I was to ship a crew of angels, though they might be handy for going aloft, they'd turn devils by the time they'd ate a pound of beef and biscuit."

"Have you ever tried kindness and persuasion?" asked the meteorologist.

The captain looked him up and down.

"Ever tried it!" he ejaculated scornfully; "'ave I ever tried anything else? It's kindness to sailormen to let 'em know who's boss. Spare the belayin'-pin and the 'andspike and you'll spoil the sailor. Oh, Solomon know'd his business when he used them words. He didn't sail to Ophir for nothin'."

"But, Captain Prowse," said the meek gentleman, whose great subject was cannibalism, "isn't it very unpleasant work rubbing the decks with stones this cold weather?"

"Unpleasant!" said the skipper, "and what do you think? Was I proposin' to reward 'em?"

"I suppose not," said the ethnologist, "but I'm sure it's awful work. I could never do it."

Captain Prowse snorted.

"Oh yes, you could, if you was in my crew," he remarked. "If one of you gents was captain, you'd find this crowd couldn't do nothing but sit in the foc'sle and drink 'ot coffee. It's all accordin' where you are, and what kind of a man's on top."

"In other words, circumstance creates character," said the statistician.

"That's a ridiculous exaggeration," said the authority on heredity. "A man is what he is born."

Captain Joseph Prowse laughed scornfully.

"Not he—he's what I makes of him, and if you gents was under me I'd make you sailors long afore you suspected it. By the way, could you tell me what branch of science an 'erbalist belongs to?"

And the conversation followed more pleasant lines.

The Nemagosenda, although little better than a tramp in her appearance, could do her ten knots an hour on less than twenty tons of coal a day, and she soon got out to the Banks, where the men of science discussed fishing, and the colour of sea-water, and icebergs.

"Yes," said the geologist, "an iceberg swims on an average seven-eighths below and an eighth above."

"Gammon!" said Captain Prowse rudely; "why, any sailor knows better. I'm surprised at a scientific josser like you bein' so ignorant. It's one-third above and two below. You ask my mate if it isn't so."

"Ah, thanks, I will," said the geologist pleasantly. "Mr. Watts is a well-informed man?"

"Rather," said Prowse, nodding; "there's not a den o' thieves in any port in Europe he can't find blindfold. And 'e knows more about icebergs than me, for he once went a trip in a Dundee whaler. He ain't proud of it, and don't talk of it much, for whalers is no class, as you may guess. But he's keen on knowledge, is Watts, I'll say that for him. You might do worse than ask him for some ackerate information. He's a perfect whale on fogs, too!"

If Mr. Watts was the authority on fogs that his captain made out, he soon had an opportunity of showing it, for half-way across the Banks it was impossible to see farther than one could throw half a hundredweight, and the Nemagosenda went tooting in darkness. But every now and again in this dim world the men of science were alarmed and entertained by sudden battles in blasphemy between Captain Prowse, or the well-informed Mr. Watts, and the crew of a Bank fisherman. For fog blankets sound in the oddest, most erratic way, and the throb of a screw cannot always be heard even in the calmest foggy weather. Such swearing matches between the Nemagosenda and a smack were, when apparently good for three minutes or so, sometimes sliced right in two by the sudden dropping down of what the meteorologist called an "anacoustic" wall of fog. Like the last words of Don Whiskerandos in A Tragedy Rehearsed, a speech was cut off in the very flower of its youth.

"Where the blue blinding blazes are you coming to?" asked a faint nocturne. And when Captain Prowse had expended his last carefully prepared oration, the right of maritime reply only conferred an audible "Oh, you dog——"

"We have to thank the anacoustic properties of that fog-bank for the sudden conclusion," said the meteorologist, "for if I'm any judge of human nature, that smacksman is still firing red-hot words into space."

"Yes, sir," said Prowse indignantly, "they're a foul-mouthed lot. It's as much as I can do to keep even with 'em. But I'll slow down no more."

He telegraphed "Full speed ahead" and left Mr. Watts with awfully worded instructions to sink anything, from a battleship to the meanest brig afloat. In the saloon he sat at the head of the table, and drank rum hot.

"Science proves that rum 'ot is the sailor's drink," said Captain Prowse, "and the correct drink. For we all drink it, and flourish on it. And the reason is that it goes by contraries. It's cold work bein' at sea, and so we takes it 'ot; and the sea is salt, so we takes it sweet: and it comes from the West Indies."

"And that proves it," said the geologist warmly. "What a head you have, Captain Prowse!"

The skipper nodded.

"You may well say so," he affirmed; "a phrenologist gave me a chart of my 'ead once, a scientific chart with the soundings wrote out plain, and what proved him right was his sayin' that 'ere and there I was too deep for him. And I paid him a guinea. Well worth it, it was, for he said, 'You get married,' and I done so, and Mrs. Prowse hasn't her living equal. I wish I'd brought that chart with me. It would 'ave interested you gents to know what a brother scientist thought of me."

"It would indeed," said the pathologist.

"But there, I'll tell you what I am," said Prowse, "I'm a down-righter, that's me. I'm captain of my boat, I am, and if I was afloat on a hencoop with all its crew I'd like to see the cock as would crow before I gave him orders. Authority comes nat'ral to me. I'll be boss wherever I am—(Hancocks, more rum!)—and I would have succeeded in whatsoever I took hold of. Phrenology told me so, wrote out plain. And I've a kind of leanin' towards science ever since that phrenologist put 'is 'and on my 'ead and said with a start of surprise, 'Captain, you're a wonder.' But I've always wondered what it was made scientific chaps look so 'elpless.—(Hancocks, more rum.)—But don't you fret, gents; I'm Captain Joseph Prowse, and I'll put you safe ashore, or die in the attempt."

And as he again ejaculated "Hancocks, more rum," he fell asleep upon the table.

"Gentlemen," said the geologist, "as our interests are now secure, I vote we go to bed."

But it was still a heavy fog, and the Nemagosenda was doing her ten knots an hour. Other steamers were doing the same, or even more. Some twenty-knot liners slowed down (in order that they might say that they had slowed down) to about nineteen knots and a half; and some, acting on the theory that the sooner they went through the fog-belt, the better for every one, gave their engines all the steam they could make, and stepped out for America or England at the pace of an indolent torpedo-boat. And the result of this was that at about four bells in the middle watch, when the mate's aching eyes could see forty imaginary steamers where there were none, he omitted to observe that there was a real one coming for him till it was too late. The Nemagosenda uttered one long horrid wail, which was answered in vain, and the next minute the men of science were shot out of their bunks, and their steamer was taking in the Atlantic through a hole about the size of a dock gate.

What became of the lucky, or unlucky, boat, which got her blow in first, the crew of the sinking steamer did not inquire. They heard her toot in the distance, and in answer they blew their whistle for help. But though a whistle in a fog may be evidence of good faith, it is not necessarily for wide publication, and it is quite possible that the stranger, if she did not sink, lost her bearings in the fog, and went off in the wrong direction. At any rate the crew and passengers of the Nemagosenda found themselves adrift in three boats, and in less than a quarter of an hour they heard, though they could not see, their steamer blow her deck out and disappear.

"All up with the Goose-ender," said the crew sulkily, "and now of course it will blow."

As ill-luck and hurry would have it, in the last rush for life most of the crew had tumbled into the mate's and second mate's boats. With the lights of science were the captain and Simpkins, A.B.

"Immortal Jehoshaphat!" said Mr. Joseph Prowse, "this is a pretty state of affairs. That man-drowning swine of a liner! I 'ope she's gone down! I hope the codfish are sizing her captain up, and sayin' what they think of him. Simpkins, keep holloaing! Where's them other boats?"

"I can't holler no more, sir," whispered Simpkins hoarsely, "my throat's give out."

And as the wind rose the three boats drifted apart. Four eminent scientific persons at the oars kept their boat head on to sea, and six other eminent persons lay on the bottom boards and wished they were dead, until the dawn crawled into the east and showed them that they were alone.

It was a chill and watery dawn, and as the boat topped the cold green waves on the edge of the Bank the prospect was eminently unkind. The wind was not heavy, but it blew hard enough to bring the spray of each curling wave inboard, and every one was soaked to the skin. The sky was lowering and overcast, and though the fog was dissipated, a mist covered the sun till it looked, as Simpkins remarked, about as warm as a new tin plate.

It must be said for Captain Joseph Prowse that he retained in some measure those characteristics of authority which he claimed for himself, and by a forced optimism, which the nature of his crew made him adopt, he endeavoured to cheer them up.

"My luck's temporary out," he declared, with some show of cheerfulness, "but it ain't the first time I've been run down, and with God's 'elp, gents, it won't be the last. And it's clean against the nature of things for so many learn'd men to come to grief at one fell blow. 'Ere or there a scientific josser may come to grief in a crowd, but so many bein' together is the best of insurances. I'll pull you through; you mind me. All I ask you to remember is that I'm captain, and what I says goes now and always."

"It's all very well," said the meteorologist, whose temper was going with the skin of his hands, "but we all thought you had no right to run so fast in a fog."

Captain Prowse gasped, and then recovered himself.

"Didn't I tell you I was captain here, same as on the steamer?"

"You did," said the sulky man of science.

"Then hold your jaw," said Captain Prowse; "when you, or the likes of you, is asked for criticism, it'll be time for you to give it. Till then you'll give your captain no lectures on the running of his vessel. God and the Queen's enemies 'as sunk my ship, but neither one nor the other has took away my natural gift of authority, so shut up!"

And though the meteorologist choked with rage, he said no more. Simpkins and the captain consulted.

"We're right in the track of steamers more or less," said Captain Prowse, "and it bein' so damp we can hang out without much drink for a day or so. And biscuit we 'ave plenty."

Simpkins nodded.

"Yes, sir, but this 'ere's a sulky useless lot, sir."

"So they are," said Prowse, "but they'll 'ave to shape themselves as I bid 'em. The first crooked word and there'll be a man of science missing out of this bright gal-acksy of talent. I don't care where I am, but there I'll be captain. I don't care if they was my owners, I'd run 'em all the same. They ain't passengers no more, they're my crew."

He took a drink out of a flask and sank back in the stern-sheets.

"I want you men to keep your eyes skinned," he said presently. "Which of you is the astronomer?"

"I am," answered the bow oar, who was a long, thin man, in a wideawake and spectacles.

"Then keep a bright look-out or you'll see stars," said Prowse. "And while I'm on it, I want you jossers to know that you ain't passengers no more, but a boat's crew, and my boat's crew, and you'll have to look lively when I sing out. So the sooner we get a bit farther south the better it will be. That will do."

And muttering that he meant being captain whether he was on an ice-floe or a mud-barge, he fell asleep and snored.

"This brute is coming out in his true colours," said the astronomer. "What did he mean by saying I should see stars?"

"Begging your pardon, sir," said Simpkins, "he meant he'd plug you."

"Plug me?"

"Bung your eye up," explained Simpkins, "and Lor' bless you, he'd do it. Oh, a rare chap is the captain; why, some years half his money goes in fines."

"I wish to heaven I was ashore," said the poor astronomer, "and when I get there I'll see he never gets another job."

Simpkins eyed the sleeping skipper in alarm.

"Best not let him 'ear you, matey," he cried. "He'd haze you to death."

"Haze me?"

"Work you up," explained the seaman.

"What's that?"

"And I thot you was all learn'd!" said Simpkins, with great contempt. "I mean he'd just sock it to you till you was fair broke up."

The day passed without any incident of vital importance. It is true they sighted the smoke of a steamer hull down on the southern horizon, but they saw nothing else across the waste of heaving water. Every now and again the captain woke up and made a few remarks on the nature of authority, and what he proposed doing to those who did not "knuckle under." But the night fell without any signs of mutiny on the part of the scientific crew.

In the very early dawn the astronomer, who had slept in uneasy snatches, woke up for the tenth time and changed his position. Simpkins and the geologist were keeping the boat before the sea, which was running south-east, and they were both half-blind with fatigue.

"I believe I see something out there," said the astronomer feebly.

"You are always seein' suthin'," said Simpkins crossly, but as he spoke he looked round and almost dropped his oar.

"Wake up, captain!" he shouted. "Here's a barque almost so near we could touch her."

The skipper roused up, and with him the rest. They jumped to their feet.

"Sit down, sit down, you gang of idiots," said the captain; "d'ye want to capsize us?"

"Oh, we are saved, we are saved!" said the ethnologist, for within half a mile of them a vessel lay with her main-topsail aback. There was nothing odd about her to the uneducated eye, but the skipper looked at Simpkins, and Simpkins looked at the skipper.

"Derelict," said both.

For with such a light breeze it was absurd to see a barque with nothing set but a close reefed main-topsail, and a fore-topmast staysail hanging in hanks like a wet duster.

"She has seen us," said the geologist.

"Seen your grandmother," said the skipper rudely. "There ain't a soul aboard her, and she's water-logged and loaded with lumber out of Halifax, and she's a northerner, and about six hundred tons register. Get the oars out. If her decks are awash, she'll be better than this boat."

By the time they came within a cable's length of her, it was broad daylight, and the least maritime member of any European scientific society was able to form an opinion as to her being derelict. As she rolled, the water came out of her scuppers, for her main-deck was almost level with the sea. Part of the gear was let go, and most of the yards were chafing through their parrals, the main-top-gallant yard, indeed, was only hanging by the tie and the lifts, and came crash against the mast every time the sea lifted the vessel's bows. Half the bulwarks were gone, and the remains of the displaced deck cargo showed through the gaps. As they got up to her she went right aback and came round slowly on her heel.

"Row up close, sir," said Simpkins, "and I'll jump."

"No," said Captain Prowse, "not with this lot. I wouldn't go near her with a crew of misfits like these, not for money. We'll go a bit closer, and you must swim."

And in ten minutes Simpkins was on board. He threw the end of a vang across the boat, and they brought her astern.

"Thank Heaven," said the men of science as they trod the slippery decks of the Kamma Funder, belonging to Copenhagen.

But their troubles were only just beginning.

The skipper walked aft on the slippery deck, and climbed upon the poop by way of the rail, for some of the loose lumber had dislodged and smashed the poop ladder. When he found his foot upon his native heath, he was once more Captain Joseph Prowse in all his glory; and turning about, he addressed his crew.

"Simpkins," he said, "you are chief officer, second officer and bo'son, and don't you forget it. As for you others, I'll have you know that you're the crew. Just drop any kind of heightened notion that you are passengers, and we'll get along easy; but if you don't, look out for squalls. Simpkins, turn this useless lot to throwin' the remains of the deck cargo overboard, and try a couple of 'em at the pumps; maybe her seams may have closed up again by now." And going aft to the scuttle, he disappeared from view.

"Well," said the geologist, "of all the infernal——"

"Oh, stow that," cried Simpkins, "and turn to. You're here, ain't you, and lucky you should consider yourself. And the captain's a man of his word, as I know; so look slippy and pass this bloomin' truck over the side."

The miserable crew looked at each other in despair.

"Come now," said Simpkins impatiently, "do you want me to report you chaps as refusin' duty?"

The geologist, who was the youngest and sturdiest man in the crowd, said that he did; but the astronomer and the entomologist remonstrated with him.

"I think we'd better," said the unhappy insect man. "This Prowse seems a regular brute."

"He is," said the astronomer, "and I pray to Heaven that he doesn't find any rum on board."

But Heaven did not listen, and the captain presently came on deck with a flushed face.

"Simpkins," roared Prowse, as his head appeared over the edge of the scuttle.

"Yes, sir," said the new mate.

"Is that lumber over the side yet?"

"Quick, for Gawd's sake," said Simpkins, and the reluctant men of science commenced sliding the boards over.

"It's going, sir," answered Simpkins.

"Goin'!" said Prowse, when he got his hands on the after poop rail. "Goin'! I should say so! What a crowd! Oh, you miserable things, I'll shape you; I'll get you into condition; I'll make sailors of you. Get two of these hoosiers on to the pumps and see if she's leakin' very bad, and then we'll make sail. This 'ere Kamma Funder won't make a quick passage, but by the time we're picked up, or sail 'er 'ome, I'll make you chaps fit to ship in the worst Cape Horner that ever sailed."

He turned away, but stopped.

"And when the deck's clear, Simpkins, you can let 'em eat what they can get. There's plenty of biscuit, but mighty little else. Now then, you Stars, pump!"

And the astronomer and entomologist pumped for their lives, while the sea round about the waterlogged barque was whitening rapidly with many thousand feet of Nova Scotian lumber. For when the captain was out of sight, Simpkins was encouraging, and talked what he told them was "horse" sense.

"You wants to get back 'ome to your families, don't you," he asked, "and to your instruments and your usual ways of livin'? Why, of course you does. Then buck up, and pitch in, and learn to do your dooty. I'm not a hard man. I can make allowances. I know you didn't ship to do this. But it's your luck, and you must. Now then, that'll do the deck. Just lay into this pump all of you, and I'll sound 'er again."

And as good luck would have it, there soon appeared some reason for hoping that the leaks in the Kamma Funder had closed.

"Blimy," said Simpkins, "we'll 'ave 'er sailin' like a witch yet. Chuck yerselves into it, and I'll call the captain."

But the captain was fast asleep in the bunk of the late skipper.

"What's become of her crew?" asked the new crew, as they sat round the deck and ate their biscuit.

"Took off by a steamer," said Simpkins; "you see they've left their boats, and the captain says the ship's papers 'as gone, so they was took off, for sure."

"I wish we were taken off," said the weary astronomer.

"That'll come, I dessay," replied the consolatory Simpkins, "but if we sails 'er 'ome, we'll get salvage, and your time won't be wasted. So cheer up, and let's make sail, while a couple of you keeps the pumps a-goin'."

The wind by now was a light north-westerly breeze, and though the barque worked heavily and wallowed in the sea, Simpkins took her as she went round and put the geologist at the helm.

"Keep the wind in the back o' your neck," said Simpkins to the nervous helmsman, "and I'll loose the foresail."

He jumped up aloft and loosed the foresail and two fore-topsails. Coming down, he got the scientific crew to work.

"Here you, ketch hold of this and pull. There, that will do. Belay! Tie the thing up, I mean, on that thing, you silly ass!"

And the member of the Royal Society, who was thus addressed for the first time since he had left school, made the starboard fore-sheet fast to the cleat.

"You ain't such an ass as you wants to make out," said Simpkins, as he watched him critically; "me and the captain will soon put you chaps in shape. Now then, all of you! Fore-topsail 'alliards! Stretch it out and lay back. Which of you can sing?"

They declared that none of them could.

"Then I must," said Simpkins; and he gave them the chanty "Handily, boys, so handy," until he had the topsail well up. And just as the crew were looking aloft with a strange new feeling of actual pleasure in seeing results grow under their hands, a sudden row arose aft. The captain was interviewing the geologist.

"Steer small," said Captain Prowse; "don't work the bally wheel as if you was workin' a chaff-cutter."

"I'm doin' my best," said the furious man of science, "and I beg you will speak to me civilly."

"I'll speak to you how I like," said Prowse; "didn't I tell you a while back as you wasn't a passenger no more, but one of my crew?"

"Sir," said the geologist, "I beg that you will be so good as to refrain from speaking to me. I am not accustomed to be talked to in that tone."

Captain Prowse gasped, and, walking hurriedly to the side, endeavoured to pull a fixed belaying-pin from the rail. After three or four trials he came to a loose one. By this time the Kamma Funder was yawing all abroad, and when Captain Prowse came towards the wheel again, the geologist let go, and in his turn sought for a weapon. The captain caught the wheel in time to prevent the vessel getting right aback, and roared:

"Mutiny, mutiny!"

Simpkins and the scientific association came running aft.

"Simpkins," shrieked Prowse, "ketch hold of that geological chap."

"I dare either of you to touch me," said the geologist; "the first one that does, I'll brain him!"

He held the iron pin firmly, and looked desperate.

"Come and ketch hold of the wheel," said Prowse, in a choking voice.

"No, don't let him," said the offender, and a violent argument arose.

"This is perfectly scandalous," said the meek astronomer, "and——"

"We won't put up with it," cried the entomologist.

"I must obey orders," said Simpkins.

"Or I'll murder you," screamed the skipper.

"If he lets go she'll be took aback," said Simpkins, "and it'll be a lot of trouble."

"We don't care," said the men of science, and then the captain let go and rushed for the geologist. Simpkins broke from the astronomer and caught the spinning wheel just as the geologist knocked the captain down.

"Oh," cried the pathologist, "I believe you've killed him."

"I hope so," said the hero of the occasion, with rather a pale face, "I'm not going to be bullied by any coarse brute of a sailor."

"But he's the captain," said Simpkins.

But mutiny was in their hearts. They all talked at once, and the pathologist felt the captain's skull to see whether it was still sound.

"Will he die?"

"No," said the doctor, "he has a skull like a ram's. Take him below."

"And lock him in," said the astronomer. "And we can argue with him through the door."

It was a happy thought, and even Simpkins, in spite of his ingrained respect for the lawful authority of the most lawless skipper, approved the suggestion.

"You ain't all so soft as you look," said Simpkins, "but the sea does bring the devil out in a man if so be he's got any."

And they carried Captain Joseph Prowse down below. As his cabin door would not lock, they jammed short pieces of sawed lumber between it and the other side of the alley way.

"It's mutiny," said Simpkins, "but it's done, and maybe he'll cool off when he comes to and finds his 'ead aching."

But nevertheless the situation was not pleasant, and no one was quite certain as to what should be done.

"Hold a committee meeting," said the entomologist.

The others said that was nonsense. Simpkins, who now looked on the geologist as captain of the mutineers, touched his hat to him, and begged leave to speak.

"Well," said the geologist, "what is it?"

"Ain't some of you gents good at instruments?" asked Simpkins. "For if you are, and if you could get hold of a sextant, it would be doin' things regular if you was to take a sight of the sun."

The ethnologist turned to the astronomer.

"How humanity yearns for a certain regularity!" he said; "it would really comfort Simpkins if you would squint at the sun through a gaspipe."

"You find me the sextant," said the astronomer, "and I'll do it."

"What, you?" said Simpkins. "I'd never ha' thought it."

Though he could not be induced to say in public why he would never have thought it, in private he revealed to the inquisitive ethnologist that the astronomer looked "the measliest of the whole gang, sir."

The discussion, which had been held on deck, with Simpkins at the wheel, was broken up by the captain hammering furiously on his jammed door.

"Go down and soothe him," said Simpkins nervously, "and mind you tell him I done nothin' but give in to superior overwhelmin' odds. For so I did, gentlemen, so I did, as you know, bein' those as done it."

The committee went below, with the geologist leading. He carried his belaying-pin in his pocket. As they marched, the uproar was tremendous.

"What a skull he must have!" said the ethnologist. "I wish I had it in my collection."

"So do I," said the pathologist

And the authority on philology pressed to the front rank, for Captain Joseph Prowse was doing his best.

"Lemme out," he roared; "oh, when I do get out, I'll show you what I am."

"Shut up!" said the young geologist, with firmness.

The captain gave an audible gasp.

"Shut up?" he inquired weakly.

"Yes," said the leader, "and give us your sextant, if you have one."

"Well, I'm damned," said Prowse, after a long and striking pause. "May I inquire if you've took command? For if so, and you require my services to peel pertaters and sweep the deck, just say so, and let me out."

"Will you be civil if we let you out?" asked the astronomer kindly.

"Civil?" said Prowse, choking; "what do you think?"

"We don't think you will be," replied the astronomer, "from the tone of your voice."

"I'm sure he won't be," said the geologist.

"I think we'd better keep him where he is," said the rest anxiously; "why, the man's nothing but a raging lunatic."

"Oh!" said Prowse from within. "Look here, you mutineers, is Simpkins in this?"

"No," said the geologist, who showed a little humour occasionally, "he's out of it. He tried to rescue you, so we hung him. But he came to again, and is now at the wheel. What about that sextant?"

"I ain't got no sextant," said Prowse sulkily. He recognised it was no use kicking, and the rum was dying out of his aching head.

"Then let's go on deck," said the men of science. "What's the use of talking to him."

"Oh, please," said the subdued skipper; but they paid no attention, and returned to Simpkins.

At various intervals during the day Prowse made more and more pitiful appeals to be let out. But as the weather was clear and bright, Simpkins and his "overwhelming odds" were at work on deck, and paid little or no attention. Simpkins now did not take his line from the skipper, but, feeling that the command was in commission, adopted the manner of the sergeant-instructor at a gymnasium.

"Now, if a couple or four of you gentlemen would keep the pumps going," he urged from his station at the wheel, "we should get along a deal better. And if you, sir, would come and take the wheel agin for two shakes of a lamb's tail, I don't see no reason I shouldn't loose the upper main-topsail."

So the geologist took the wheel while Simpkins went aloft and loosed the upper main-topsail.

"Supposing you wanted to have less sail presently," said the astronomer to Simpkins, when the topsail was set, "what would you do?"

"You gents would 'ave to 'elp stow it," said Simpkins.

"What, go aloft?" asked the astronomer.

"And why not?" demanded Simpkins. "It's easy, going aloft—as easy as fallin' from the side of an 'ouse."

"So I should think," cried the astronomer, shivering. "I hope the weather will remain fine."

"You know it's really remarkable how useful such an uneducated man can be," he said presently to some of the others. "Now, what use am I?"

Simpkins was passing and heard this. He paused and eyed the astronomer.

"Well, to speak the truth, sir," he said sympathetically, "you ain't much; but you do what you can at the end of a rope. And I shouldn't be surprised if you're all right at 'ome."

"All of which is good against vanity," said the astronomer, as the barque under most of her plain sail steered east-south-east into the track of the Atlantic liners. "And do you know, absurd as it may seem, I am beginning to feel very well indeed—better than I have done for years."

As the night fell, the captain, who had by that time lost all his alcoholic courage, appealed for mercy. He shouted his petition to those on deck through the cabin port-hole. But he tried Simpkins first.

"Simpkins," he yelled.

"Yes, sir," said Simpkins, with his head over the rail.

"Come and let me out."

"I darn't, sir," said Simpkins; "they're all very fierce and savage agin you, especial about your using bad language, and each of 'em 'as a belayin'-pin and is a-watchin' of me. It's more than my life's worth to let you out. And——"

"Yes," said the skipper.

"It's more'n yours is worth too. You must ask 'em civil."

"And give your word of honour," suggested the ferocious geologist in a whisper.

"And give your word of honour——"

"To act civilly and quietly to every one."

"To act civil and quiet, sir," said Simpkins.

"And not to talk too much about authority, or drink any more rum," prompted the savage astronomer.

"And not to be too rumbumptious, or to get squiffy again," said Simpkins.

"For," said the brutal geologist, "if you will agree to these terms, we shall be glad of your advice and assistance, Captain Prowse."

"I'll think of it," returned the skipper sulkily.

"All right," said the rude geologist, "take a day or two to think it over."

"Oh, Lord," said Prowse hastily. "I've thought of it, and I agree."

And when he came on deck the savage and ferocious scientific captains remarked in a friendly manner that it was a fine evening.

"Damme," said the one-time skipper, "I'm blowed if I ain't the crew of the Kamma Funder."

THE REHABILITATION OF THE VIGIA.

The mate or the Palembang walked the weather side of the poop, and felt just then that he was full up to the back teeth of the mighty sea and all its works. He yearned for Leith Walk or Wapping; to lie on a hot dry beach would be heaven, for the hot wet south-west monsoon was blowing the Palembang towards Bombay, and the Maldivhs were on the starboard beam.

Jack Wilson propped his eyes open and cursed the slow passage of time towards midnight. As he peered down below at the lighted clock he was inclined to swear that the second mate had come out and stopped it. But presently it was five minutes to twelve, and to his disgust sleepiness passed away as his relief stumbled up the poop ladder and came aft. "Jerusalem, but it's dark," said the second greaser, as he looked up aloft and round about him.

"Have the gas lit," growled Wilson, as he was going forward.

"Sulky devil!" replied the second. "When do you have a civil word for any one?"

This was all in the night's work, and no one was a penny the worse. Civility at midnight is often too dear to be bought from any one but an inferior; and Wilson and Green knew each other very well.

The Palembang was running with the wind on the port quarter, and for a quiet life the old lady was under shortened canvas. She went at it like an old dame in wind and snow; a reefed foresail represented picked-up petticoats; the stowed royals and topgallant-sails suggested that a hat with feathers had been replaced by a handkerchief. For the monsoon was blowing stiff that July night seven degrees to the north of the Line, and threatened to blow stiffer yet.

As it was getting towards two o'clock, or four bells, the captain came on deck, and nodded at the binnacle when Green said: "Good-morning, sir." Then he spread his legs out and considered the dark universe for awhile.

"It has waked up a bit since I went below, Mr. Green," he said presently; and, wanting no answer, he got none. The song of the wind in the rigging and the draught under the foot of the foresail were answer sufficient. There was a pleasing hiss alongside as the Palembang shoved through the Indian Ocean and left a lighter wake behind.

"There's a vigia marked on the chart for hereabouts," said Captain Spiller presently; "it got there through that old fool Banks of the Simoom. He reported it years ago, but it warn't never confirmed. Rocks, he said, and one like Cleopatra's Needle."

"Then you don't credit it either, sir?" asked Green presently.

"I know Banks," replied Spiller, snorting, "and never was such a man for imagination and want of judgment. I'd take it as proof positive as nothing was, if he said it stood to reason it must be. And I'm a man as likes a clean and decent chart. A chart is the character give to an ocean by them as has employed it, a bundle of chits, as the Hindoo beggars say, and to go an' lump in a suspicion agin' the character of an ocean on the word of a man like Banks, why, I've no patience. I've a notion that the law of libel ought to have a say in it."

"Aye, sir," said Green. "The Indian Ocean versus Banks."

"And I'd believe it of Banks that he done it just to get his name mentioned, and to rise a bit of a palaver about him. He's a most conceited chap is Banks, and not by any means the seaman he'd like to be thought. And they actually sent a man-o'-war down to look up his Simoom Rocks and they came back and never seen 'em."

"And nobody else ever did, sir?"

"Of course not," said Spiller; "they might as well set traps to catch the rats that a man sees when he's got the jimjams. And nothing makes Banks angrier than to throw out a hint you don't believe in them rocks. I always gets him on it, by asking for a clean chart and proved shoals, and what not, and giving it him hot and heavy on vigias and the like. Bah, I ain't no patience."

And Spiller tramped the deck for a bit. Presently he came back to where Green stood.

"He'll be in Bombay before us," he said gloomily. "I have to own the Simoom's faster than the Palembang, but if she was sailed by a better man she'd make quicker passages. Why, an engineer in a steamer can pass a thorough sailor in a scow."

His heart was bitter, but the thought that Her Majesty's cruiser Amphion had discredited the Simoom vigia was balm to his inmost soul, as he turned to go below.

"Keep a bright look-out," he growled, and he left Green to consider the matter of vigias in general, and the Simoom vigia in particular.

For these vigias, the terror of seamen, are like malicious spirits. Some man has seen them, or has imagined them, and for ever after they bear sway in the minds of those who sail upon the great deep. Perhaps they are but a floating mass of wreck, on which the sea breaks; in the south, what was seen was, it may be, a drifting berg; on the shores of West Africa, perchance a river has sent out a floating island. Any accident of imagination may create them; alcohol bears them on its tide: they are the rats and ghosts and terrible creeping things of the delirium of the sea that is born of rum. A heavy heeled spar as it floats becomes a pinnacle of rock; the boat that bears dead men in it is for ever after to be avoided. Here a rip of currents, and there a heavy overfall, become fixed terrors and are given names.

For this is the sea that is unknown yet, and shall for ever be unknown. It works upon the mind of man very subtly, and yet again with tremendous strength. Under the sea are earthquakes, and in it volcanoes. Of these islands are born, and again they pass away, while the little creature man skims upon the surface of the ocean like a water-beetle, and may be seen no more.

When Green was left alone upon the poop of the Palembang, save for the presence of the man at the wheel, something of the wonderful majesty of the sea came down upon him, and for a moment touched his nerves. Trust in the captain he had none, for Spiller was of the usual alcoholic order; so he got out the chart and looked at it. There stood the vigia marked "Simoom Rock." Perhaps it existed after all. He remembered the history of the Aurora Islands to the cast of the Falklands. Even now, some old sailors believe there are such islands, real land, not ice grounded on deep soundings. And the Simoom vigia was close at hand, if it existed at all. Allowing for sufficient uncertainty in its supposed position, it might be anywhere within a degree. He stared out into the darkness and imagined he saw it. It was here, it was there, it was nowhere: it was a wraith of the mind, and dissolved. He put back his night-glasses, and whistled, till he remembered there was quite enough wind, and that he had no desire to turn the hands up to shorten sail.

"Jerusalem, it is dark," he said again, and he recalled Wilson's reply, "Have the gas lit." Aye, that would be pleasant. For a moment he saw the streets of London town with a diminuendo in lamps, and then he pulled himself together. It breezed up a bit and was four bells. He hove the log, and went along the lee side to go below to enter it on the slate. She made a biggish weather roll, and the decks being slippery, he steadied himself and put his head outside the rail to take a look ahead. And at that moment, as he says, he saw the Simoom vigia. His heart stood still, and then thumped furiously. In spite of the hiss of the seas, and the windy roar of the rigging, the sound of his pulse in his ears was like the sound of a pump. He was paralysed, and yet he knew that the Palembang was rushing on destruction.

"Hard a starboard!" he said coolly, but in a choking voice.

"Sir?" said the astounded man at the wheel.

"Hard a starboard, damn you," said Green fiercely.

And the helmsman ground the wheel hard down with the air of a surprised martyr. As the Palembang bowed and came round almost at right angles to her former course, Green swears he saw broken water, though he lost the sharp pinnacle of rock he had seen at first.

Old Spiller, who was not asleep, came up on deck in a hurry.

"What's she off her course for?"

Green told him, and Spiller swore.

"You saw nothing, you damn fool."

"I did."

"You didn't, you imaginative ass."

Green wanted to plant his fist between Spiller's eyes, but did not; for he was a married man and hated to lose a job. He ground his teeth and turned away. The Palembang was put on her course again, and after interrogating the man on the look-out and the man at the wheel, who acknowledged they had seen nothing, the skipper swore promiscuously at everything, and went below to lay his soul in soak.

"What one man sees another'll look for, and what a fool looks for a fool will see," he cried, without knowing what a neat addition he had made to the subject of suggestion. And by the time that Wilson relieved him at four o'clock Green was curiously uncertain as to whether he had seen straight or not.

"Now, did you?" asked Wilson.

"Two hours ago I'd have sworn to it," said the second mate, scratching his head.

"Well, I've a notion you did," cried Wilson. "Between you and me and the mizzen-mast, I think Banks is a right smart man."

"I believe I can swear I saw it," said young Green, much encouraged. "Yes, there were at least three rocks, one of them a pinnacle like an obelisk."

And with Wilson secretly on his side, he was quite sure of it before they reached Bombay, though Spiller was for ever jeering at him, and making the ship as uncomfortable as he could.

"Mebbe you can see ghosts, too," he was constantly suggesting.

"I'll quit at Bombay if he'll give me my discharge," said Green.

And sure enough Spiller did, when he met Green on the Apollo Bunda in a confidential yarn with Banks, who, for a seaman of the old class, was a very gentlemanly man with neat white whiskers.

"You've been encouraging him about that vigia," roared Spiller, and when he wrote out Green's discharge, he offered to give him a special character for seeing ghosts.

"But not rats!" said Green nastily, as he put his discharge into his pocket; for the last time Spiller overdrank himself he had a very bad time with rodents.

It was the best of luck for Green that he got out of the Palembang, for Banks's mate fell ill, and the second had no mate's ticket. So Green, being in great favour, through having seen the poor discredited Simoom vigia, got the job, for he had passed for mate just before signing as second in the Palembang.

Banks took him round with him, and again tackled the captain of the Amphion about that vigia, showing his new witness; but Captain Melville shook his head.

"The old man is crazy about those rocks," was all he said, as he refused to discuss the matter.

But Banks and Spiller went at it hammer and tongs when they met ashore.

"He saw nothing," said Spiller.

"Only what I saw."

"I told the fool about it and he imagined the rest, as you did."

Banks fumed.

"Lucky you didn't run the Palembang on my imagination. Slow as she goes, she'd have slammed herself into matchwood."

Spiller choked with rage.

"Look here, I'll sail all over your blooming rocks, as I have done afore. You just made this up to get notoriety, and have your ship's name on the chart, and be put in the Directory. I know you, Banks, and I don't think much of you, and never did. To get yourself talked about you'd report that you'd seen the Flying Dutchman. Vigias, indeed! A disfigurement on any chart! You'll have the chart of the Indian Ocean as big a disgrace as the North Atlantic if you have your way. Didn't you find nothing new to report this time?"

Banks rose up in a towering rage.

"You're no gentleman, Captain Spiller, and I'll speak no more with you, not till you own that the Simoom Rocks are real. And may you never have occasion to rue finding them out as such. I'll let you know I've as great a respect for the chart as you have, and if you ever run your old tub on my rocks, you can call 'em Spiller's Reef, for all I care, so there," and he perspired off to his vessel.

In shipping circles opinion was divided between the master of the Simoom and the master of the Palembang. And it being the fashion of the sailorman, or, for that matter, of human-kind in general, to decide matters that admit of doubt according to personal prejudice and ancient opinion, there were more on Spiller's side than on Banks's. For one thing, it is the perpetual ambition of all true sons of the ocean to discover something new and have his ship's name tagged on to it, and every one was jealous of Banks. When the Amphion looked for the rocks without success, they threw out dark hints about a dead whale or a tree stump having been seen, and some said "Rum," just as others said "Rats," contemptuously.

Others, with a very fine contempt for the Navy, were of opinion that Captain Melville of H.M.S. Amphion considered he owned half the Indian Ocean and all the Arabian Sea, and would be as much put out at finding an unmarked rock or shoal in either as if he slipped upon an old chew on his own quarterdeck. These were on Banks's side, of course. And some who disliked Spiller said they believed in this new set of rocks to annoy him, ending very naturally in holding the opinion they argued for.

When old Banks got on the high horse and swore he would not speak again to the disbeliever in the vigia, he meant it, and added details to his statement.

"Not if I found him in a boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean," he swore excitedly.

The quarrel was as bitter as polemic theology. Spiller was a rank atheist, a scorner, a scoffer, a pagan, a heathen. If Banks had written a new creed, he would have begun it: "I believe in the Simoom Rocks to the west of the Maldivhs." He clung to their existence pathetically, and when an impecunious skipper of a storm-disgruntled tramp wanted to borrow a couple of hundred rupees from him, and remarked incidentally that he had seen broken water in the supposed position of the discredited reef, Banks forked out with enthusiasm and took down a lying statement joyfully.

But when the Simoom was ready for sea again, that same tramp skipper, who was a wild disgrace to the respectable mystery of the sea, executed a few manoeuvres which let the Palembang get ahead of her. For the tramp (Julius Cæsar was her name) had engines of an obstinate and eccentric character. Sometimes they worked, and sometimes they didn't, and on this particular occasion they refused to be reversed at any price. As the Julius Cæsar wouldn't go astern, her captain shoved her at the crowded shipping ahead and put her through, whooping on the bridge like a maniac. He grazed three other steamers, took a bumpkin off a sailing vessel, slipped between two others, and in one last complicated evolution smashed the jibboom of the Simoom, brought down her fore-topgall'n'-mast, and escaped to sea in a cyclone of curses of which the calm centre was the Palembang.