with this appalling allocution: "Mr. Trent, I must put you on your
guard; you must be very careful, or we shall see you here again." In the
inside of a week the captain disposed of the bank, the cottage, and the
gig and horse; and to sea again in the Flying Scud, where he did well
and gave high satisfaction to his owners. But the glory clung to him; he
was a plain sailor-man, he said, but he could never long allow you to
forget that he had been a banker.

His mate, Elias Goddedaal, was a huge viking of a man, six feet three
and of proportionate mass, strong, sober, industrious, musical, and
sentimental. He ran continually over into Swedish melodies, chiefly in
the minor. He had paid nine dollars to hear Patti; to hear Nilsson, he
had deserted a ship and two months' wages; and he was ready at any time
to walk ten miles for a good concert, or seven to a reasonable play.
On board he had three treasures: a canary bird, a concertina, and a
blinding copy of the works of Shakespeare. He had a gift, peculiarly
Scandinavian, of making friends at sight: an elemental innocence
commended him; he was without fear, without reproach, and without money
or the hope of making it.

Holdorsen was second mate, and berthed aft, but messed usually with the
hands.

Of one more of the crew, some image lives. This was a foremast hand out
of the Clyde, of the name of Brown. A small, dark, thickset creature,
with dog's eyes, of a disposition incomparably mild and harmless, he
knocked about seas and cities, the uncomplaining whiptop of one vice.
"The drink is my trouble, ye see," he said to Carthew shyly; "and it's
the more shame to me because I'm come of very good people at Bowling,
down the wa'er." The letter that so much affected Nares, in case the
reader should remember it, was addressed to this man Brown.

Such was the ship that now carried joy into the bosoms of the castaways.
After the fatigue and the bestial emotions of their night of play, the
approach of salvation shook them from all self-control. Their hands
trembled, their eyes shone, they laughed and shouted like children as
they cleared their camp: and some one beginning to whistle _Marching
Through Georgia,_ the remainder of the packing was conducted, amidst a
thousand interruptions, to these martial strains. But the strong head of
Wicks was only partly turned.

"Boys," he said, "easy all! We're going aboard of a ship of which we
don't know nothing; we've got a chest of speci