is shoulder
and he was forthwith awake and competent.

"A ship to windward, sir, showin' flags," said the steward. "The mate
'ud be glad if you'd go to the bridge."

"A' right," said the Captain, and stood up. "In distress, eh?"

"By the looks of her, sir," admitted the steward, who had been a
waiter ashore. "She seems to be a mast or two short, sir, so far as I
can tell. But I couldn't be sure."

He helped the Captain into his oilskins deftly, pulling his jacket
down under the long coat, and held the door open for him.

Some three miles to windward the stranger lay, an appealing vagabond.
The Captain found his son standing on the flag-chest, braced against
a stanchion, watching her through a pair of glasses, when she peeped
up, a momentary silhouette, over the tall seas. He turned as the
Captain approached.

"Can't make out her flags, sir," he said. "Too much wind. Looks like
a barque with only her mizzen standing."

"Gimme the glass," said the Captain, climbing up beside him. He
braced himself against the irons and took a look at her, swinging
accurately to the roll of the ship. Beneath him the wind-whipped
water tumbled in grey leagues; the stranger seemed poised on the rim
of it. From her gaff, a dot of a flag showed a blur against the sky,
and a string from her mast-head was equally vague.

"That'll be her ensign upside down at the gaff," he said. "Port your
helm there; we'll go down and look at her."

"Aye, aye, sir." The mate passed the word and came over. "How would
it be to see one of the boats clear, father!"

"Aren't the boats clear?" demanded the Captain.

"Oh yes, they're clear," replied the mate. "You had us put new pins
in the blocks, you know." He met his father's steady eye defiantly.
"When are a steamer's boats ever clear for hoisting out?" he asked.

"Always, when the mate's fit for his job," was the answer. "Go and
make sure of the starboard lifeboat, and call the watch."

The Captain took his ship round to windward of the distressed vessel,
running astern of her within a quarter of a mile. She proved to be
the remains of a barque, as the mate had guessed, a deep-laden wooden
ship badly swept by the sea. From the wing of the bridge the
Captain's glasses showed him the length of her deck, cluttered with
the wreck of houses torn up by the roots, while the fall of the spars
had taken her starboard bulwarks with it. Her boats were gone; a
davit stuck up at the end of the poop crumpled lik