n't chanced that one of our worst men was
the look-out--or rather wasn't the look-out. However, you're all right
now. Your ship went down, I expect, not long since?"

"About three or four months ago," answered Watty.

"Come, boy, your mind hasn't got quite on the balance yet. It ain't
possible that you could be as fat as a young pig after bein' three or
four months at sea in an open boat. What was the name of your ship?"

"The _Lively Poll_."

"What! a Scotch ship?"

"Yes; part owned and commanded by Captain Samson."

"_I_ know him; met him once in Glasgow. A big, rough-bearded, hearty
fellow--six foot two or thereabouts. Didn't go down with his ship, did
he?" asked the captain with a look of anxiety.

"No," replied Watty with increasing interest in the American; "we
escaped on a raft to an island, off which I was blown, while alone in my
boat only two days ago."

"Only two days ago, boy!" echoed the captain, starting up; "d'you happen
to know the direction of that island?"

Watty did not know, of course, having had no compass in his boat; but he
fortunately remembered what Captain Samson had said when he had
ascertained the latitude and longitude of it.

"Mr Barnes," shouted the captain to the first mate, who stood on deck
near the open skylight, "how's her head?"

"Sou'-sou'-west, sir."

"Put her about and lay your course west and by north. Now," said the
captain, turning again to Watty, with a look of satisfaction, "we'll
soon rescue Captain Samson and his crew. I'm sorry I won't be able to
take you all back to England, because we are bound for San Francisco,
but a trip to California is preferable to life on a coral island. Now,
boy, I've talked enough to you. The steward will bring you some dinner.
If you feel disposed, you may get up after that. Here are dry clothes
for you. We ripped up your own to save time after hauling you out of
the sea."

It was not usual for the gentle Polly Samson to alarm the camp with a
shriek that would have done credit to a mad cockatoo, nevertheless, she
did commit this outrage on the feelings of her companions on the
afternoon of the day on which Watty was run down and rescued.

Her father and all the others were seated around the camp fire among the
bushes at the time. Polly had left them, intending to pay a visit to
one of her beautiful water-gardens on the beach, and had just emerged
from the bushes and cast her eyes upon the sea, when she beheld the