a last
screech, and then I don't remember hanythink, Sir, till Cookie was
'elping 'aul (Mr. Brown always dropped his aspirates as he grew excited)
me into the boat. Now, just you remember what I've been a-telling you
about floating."--"_Forrard there! Stand by to clew up and furl the main
to'gall'n-s'l! Couple of you come aft here and brail up the spanker!
Lively, men, lively!_"--And Mr. Brown was no longer my Scheherazade.

When I got back to the shelter of the wheel-house, I found the captain
and old Roberts still comfortably braced up in opposite corners and
yarning away. There was nothing to be done but to watch the ship and the
wind, which promised in due time to be a gale, but as yet was not even a
reefing breeze. They had got upon a standing topic between the
two,--vessels out of their course. The second night out, we had made a
light which the captain insisted was a ship's light, but old Roberts
declared was one of the lights on the coast of Maine,--Mount Desert, or
somewhere thereabouts. He was an old shipping-merchant, had been many a
time across the water in his own vessels, and thought he knew as much as
most men. So, whenever other subjects gave out, this, of vessels drifted
by unsuspected currents out of their course, was unfailing. They were at
it now.

"When I was last in Liverpool," said the captain, "there was a brig from
Machias got in there, and her captain came up to Mrs. McKinney's. He
told us that it was thick weather when he got upon the Irish coast, and
he was rather doubtful about his reckoning; so he ordered a sharp
look-out for Cape Clear. According to his notion, he ought to be up with
it about noon, and, as the sun rose and the fog lifted a little, he was
hoping to sight the land. Once or twice he fancied he had a glimpse of
it, but wasn't sure,--when the mate came aft and reported that they
could hear a bell ringing. 'Sure enough,' he said, 'there was the toll
of a bell coming through the mist.'

"'That's some ship's bell,' said he to the mate; 'only it's wonderful
heavy for a ship, and it can't be a church-bell on shore, can it?'

"And while they were arguing about it, a cutter shot out of the fog and
hailed if they wanted a pilot.

"'Pilot!' says the Down-Easter,--'pilot!--where for? No, thank ye, not
yet,--I can find my way up George's without a pilot. What bell's that?'

"'Rather think you can, Captain; but you'll want a pilot here;--that's
the bell on the floating light off Liv