to-day
when the schooner _Abbie Rose_ dropped anchor in the upper
river, manned only by a crew of one. It appears that the
outbound freighter _Mercury_ sighted the _Abbie Rose_ off
Block Island on Thursday last, acting in a suspicious
manner. A boat-party sent aboard found the schooner in
perfect order and condition, sailing under four lower sails,
the topsails being pursed up to the mastheads but not
stowed. With the exception of a yellow cat, the vessel was
found to be utterly deserted, though her small boat still
hung in the davits. No evidences of disorder were visible in
any part of the craft. The dishes were washed up, the stove
in the galley was still slightly warm to the touch,
everything in its proper place with the exception of the
vessel's papers, which were not to be found.

All indications being for fair weather, Captain Rohmer of
the _Mercury_ detailed two of his company to bring the find
back to this port, a distance of one hundred and fifteen
miles. The only man available with a knowledge of the
fore-and-aft rig was Stewart McCord, the second engineer. A
seaman by the name of Bjoernsen was sent with him. McCord
arrived this noon, after a very heavy voyage of five days,
reporting that Bjoernsen had fallen overboard while shaking
out the foretopsail. McCord himself showed evidence of the
hardships he has passed through, being almost a nervous
wreck.

Stewart McCord! Yes, Stewart McCord would have a knowledge of the
fore-and-aft rig, or of almost anything else connected with the affairs
of the sea. It happened that I used to know this fellow. I had even been
quite chummy with him in the old days--that is, to the extent of
drinking too many beers with him in certain hot-country ports. I
remembered him as a stolid and deliberate sort of a person, with an
amazing hodgepodge of learning, a stamp collection, and a theory about
the effects of tropical sunshine on the Caucasian race, to which I have
listened half of more than one night, stretched out naked on a
freighter's deck. He had not impressed me as a fellow who would be
bothered by his nerves.

And there was another thing about the story which struck me as rather
queer. Perhaps it is a relic of my seafaring days, but I have always
been a conscientious reader of the weather reports; and I could remember
no weather in the past wee