ur cap
and canvas petticoats; he held some letters in his hand.

"What do you want?" at last screamed the captain.

"Yes--what do you want?" continued Schriften. "He! he!"

"What, you here, pilot?" observed the man; "well--I thought you had
gone to Davy's locker, long enough ago."

"He! he!" replied Schriften, turning away.

"Why the fact is, captain, we have had very foul weather, and we wish
to send letters home; I do believe that we shall never get round this
Cape."

"I can't take them," cried the captain.

"Can't take them! well, it's very odd--but every ship refuses to
take our letters; it's very unkind--seamen should have a feeling for
brother seamen, especially in distress. God knows, we wish to see our
wives and families again; and it would be a matter of comfort to them,
if they only could hear from us."

"I cannot take your letters--the saints preserve us;" replied the
captain.

"We have been a long while out," said the seaman, shaking his head.

"How long?" inquired the captain, not knowing what to say.

"We can't tell; our almanack was blown overboard, and we have lost our
reckoning. We never have our latitude exact now, for we cannot tell
the sun's declination for the right day."

"Let _me_ see your letters," said Philip, advancing, and taking them
out of the seaman's hands.

"They must not be touched," screamed Schriften.

"Out, monster!" replied Philip, "who dares interfere with me?"

"Doomed--doomed--doomed!" shrieked Schriften, running up and down the
deck, and then breaking into a wild fit of laughter.

"Touch not the letters," said the captain, trembling as if in an ague
fit.

Philip made no reply, but held his hand out for the letters.

"Here is one from our second mate, to his wife at Amsterdam, who lives
on Waser Quay."

"Waser Quay has long been gone, my good friend; there is now a large
dock for ships where it once was," replied Philip.

"Impossible!" replied the man; "here is another from the boatswain to
his father, who lives in the old market-place."

"The old market-place has long been pulled down, and there now stands
a church upon the spot."

"Impossible!" replied the seaman; "here is another from myself to my
sweetheart, Vrow Ketser--with money to buy her a new brooch."

Philip shook his head--"I remember seeing an old lady of that name
buried some thirty years ago."

"Impossible! I left her young and blooming. Here's one for the house
of Slutz & Co., to who