to give him the latitude and longitude of the crater; twenty times
had he been told what they were, and just as often had he forgotten
them. When questioned by his young friend, twenty-four hours after a
lesson of this sort, if he remembered the figures at all, he was apt to
give the latitude for the longitude, or the longitude for the latitude,
the degrees for the minutes, or the minutes for the degrees. Ordinarily,
however, he forgot all about the numbers themselves. Mark had in vain
endeavoured to impress on his mind the single fact that any number which
exceeded ninety must necessarily refer to longitude, and not to
latitude; for Bob could not be made to remember even this simple
distinction. He was just as likely to believe the Reef lay in the
hundred and twentieth degree of latitude, as he was to fancy it lay in
the twentieth. With such a head, therefore, it was but little to be
expected Bob could give the information to others necessary to find the
reef, even in the almost hopeless event of his ever being placed in
circumstances to do so. Still, while so completely ignorant of
mathematics and arithmetic, in all their details, few mariners could
find their way better than Bob Betts by the simple signs of the ocean.
He understood the compass perfectly, the variations excepted; and his
eye was as true as that of the most experienced artist could be, when it
became necessary to judge of the colour of the water. On many occasions
had Mark known him intimate that the ship was in a current, and had a
weatherly or a lee set, when the fact had escaped not only the officers,
but the manufacturers of the charts. He judged by ripples, and sea-weed,
and the other familiar signs of the seas, and these seldom failed him.
While, therefore, there was not a seaman living less likely to find the
Reef again, when driven off from its vicinity, by means of observations
and the charts, there was not a seaman living more likely to find it, by
resorting to the other helps of the navigator. On this last peculiarity
Mark hung all his hopes of seeing his friend again, when the gale should
abate.

Since the moment when all the charge of the ship fell upon his
shoulders, by the loss of Captain Crutchely, Mark had never felt so
desolate, as when he lost sight of Bob and the Neshamony. Then, indeed,
did he truly feel himself to be alone, with none between him and his God
with whom to commune. It is not surprising, therefore, that one so much
d