ely a boat was lowered
by some novel machinery and pulled toward the steamer. There were two men
in it, the skipper and the negro. The skipper came up the side of the
_Springbok._ He was loosely dressed in some light drab-colored stuff and
a huge straw hat; a man with a long Puritanical head, a nose inclined to
be aquiline, a face bronzed by weather and heat, thin, resolute lips, and
a square chin. But for a certain breadth between his keen gray eyes,
which revealed more intellect than Cromwell's Ironsides were encumbered
with, he might have passed for one of that hard-praying, hard-hitting
fraternity.

He came on deck, just touched his hat, as if to brush away a fly, and,
removing an enormous cigar from his mouth, said, "Wal, and so this is the
_Springbok._ Spry little boat she is; how many knots can ye get out of
her now? Not that I am curious."

"About twelve knots."

"And when the steam's off the bile, how many can you sail? Not that it is
my business."

"Eight or nine. What _is_ your business?"

"Hum! You have been over _some_ water looking for that gal. Where do ye
hail from last?"

"The Society Islands. Did you board me to hear me my catechism?"

"No, I am not one of your prying sort. Where are ye bound for now?"

"I am bound for Easter Island."

"Have you heard anything of the gal?"

"No."

"And when do ye expec' to go back to England as wise as ye came?"

"Never while the ship can swim," cried Moreland angrily, to hide his
despondency from this stranger. "And now it is my turn, I think. What
schooner is this? by whom commanded, and whither bound?"

"The _Julia Dodd;_ Joshua Fullalove; bound for Juan Fernandez with the
raw material of civilization--look at the varmint skippin'--and a
printing-press; an' that's the instrument of civilization, I rather
think."

"Well, sir; and why in Heaven's name did you change your course?"

"Wal, I reckon I changed it--to tell you a lie."

"To tell us a lie?"

"Ay; the darnedest etarnal lie that ever came out of a man's mouth. Fust,
there's an unknown island somewheres about. That's a kinder flourish
beforehand. On that island there's an English gal wrecked."

Exclamations burst forth on every side at this.

"And she is so tarnation 'cute, she is flying ducks all over creation
with a writing tied to their legs, telling the tale, and setting down the
longitude. There, if that isn't a buster, I hope I may never live to tell
another."

"God bless you, si