that Mark must hear
what he had to relate gradually, and was not sorry that the recognition
of the negro had prepared him to expect something wonderful. Wonderful
it was, indeed; and at last Betts, having finished his dinner, and given
half-a-dozen preparatory hints, in order to lessen the intensity of his
young friend's feelings, yielded to an appeal from the other's eyes, and
commenced his narrative. Bob told his story, as a matter of course,
with a great deal of circumlocution, and in his own language. There was
a good deal of unnecessary prolixity in it, and some irrelative
digressions touching currents, and the trades, and the weather; but, on
the whole, it was given intelligibly, and with sufficient brevity for
one who devoured every syllable he uttered. The reader, however, would
most probably prefer to hear an abridgement of the tale in our own
words.

When Robert Betts was driven off the Reef, by the hurricane of the
preceding year, he had no choice but to let the Neshamony drive to
leeward with him. As soon as he could, he got the pinnace before the
wind, and, whenever he saw broken water ahead, he endeavoured to steer
clear of it. This he sometimes succeeded in effecting; while at others
he passed through it, or over it, at the mercy of the tempest.
Fortunately the wind had piled up the element in such a way as to carry
the craft clear of the rocks, and in three hours after the Neshamony was
lifted out of her cradle, she was in the open ocean, to leeward of all
the dangers. It blew too hard, however, to make sail on her, and Bob was
obliged to scud until the gale broke. Then, indeed, he passed a week in
endeavouring to beat back and rejoin his friend, but without success,
'losing all he made in the day, while asleep at night.' Such, at least,
was Bob's account of his failure to find the Reef again; though Mark
thought it probable that he was a little out in his reckoning, and did
not look in exactly the right place for it.

At the end of this week high land was made to leeward, and Betts ran
down for it, in the hope of finding inhabitants. In this last
expectation, however, he did not succeed. It was a volcanic mountain, of
a good many resources, and of a character not unlike that of Vulcan's
Peak, but entirely unpeopled. He named it after his old ship, and passed
several days on it. On describing its appearance, and its bearings from
the place where they then were, Mark had no doubt it was the island that