s of the forepeak.

It can't be. The man-of-war is anchored more than two miles off.
Strong swimmer though he knows himself, it is too far. Besides, a fog
has suddenly sprung up, overspreading the bay, so that the frigate is
hidden from his sight. Even ships lying close in shore can be but
faintly discerned through its film, and only the larger spars; the
smaller ones, with the rigging-ropes, looking like the threads of a
spider's web.

Downhearted, almost despairing, Harry Blew halts upon the beach. What
is he to do? Lie down on the sand, and there go to sleep? There are
times when on the shores of San Francisco Bay this would not be much of
a hardship. But now, it is the season of winter, when the Pacific
current, coming from latitudes farther north, rolls in through the
Golden Gate, bringing with it fogs that spread themselves over the great
estuary inside. Although not frosty, these are cold enough to be
uncomfortable, and the haze now is accompanied by a chill drizzling
rain.

Standing under it, Harry Blew feels he is fast getting wet. If he do
not obtain shelter, he will soon be soaked to the skin.

Looking inquiringly around, his eye rests upon a boat, which lies bottom
upward on the beach, appearing through the thick rain like the carapace
of a gigantic turtle. It is an old ship's launch that has bilged, and
either been abandoned as useless, or upturned to receive repairs. No
matter what its history, it offers the hospitality so scurvily refused
him at the "Sailor's Home." If it cannot give him supper, or bed, it
will be some protection against the rain that has now commenced coming
down in big clouting drops.

This deciding him, he creeps under the capsized launch, and lays himself
at full length along the shingle.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

IN DANGEROUS PROXIMITY.

The spot upon which the ex-man-o'-war's man has stretched himself is
soft as a feather-bed. Still he does not fall asleep. The rain,
filtering through the sand, soon finds its way under the boat; and,
saturating his couch, makes it uncomfortable. This, with the cold
night-air, keeps him awake.

He lies listening to the sough of the sea, and the big drops pattering
upon the planks above.

Not long before other sounds salute his ear, distinguishable as human
voices--men engaged in conversation.

As he continues to listen, the voices grow louder, those who converse
evidently drawing nearer.

In a few seconds they are by