brute's head. It opened its
huge mouth and showed its immense claws upon the rail; old Bunk hissed
and snapped at it, then roared out to me:

"Now's your time, Tom," whilst I heard Jack Stevens sing out:

"Back astarn! The fired cat's going to jump."

With the nimbleness of terror I dropped to the deck and passed like a
shadow to the hatch, unnoticed by the beast. In a moment I closed the
companion doors, then entering Bunk's cabin found the gun and
ammunition. I loaded the piece, and, getting on to the cabin table,
put my head into the skylight, and bawled out to let the others know
that I was going to shoot. My voice attracted the tiger; it turned,
and with swaying tail came with velvet tread, crouching in a springing
posture. I levelled the gun, steadying the barrel, and, taking a cool,
deliberate aim--for I was safe!--fired, and the instant I had fired,
without pausing to see what had happened, I loaded again; but before I
could present the piece for a second shot the beast, who was now on
this side the boy, lurched and fell.

I fired a second ball into it, and then a third and a fourth, and now
shouting to let the men know the brute was wounded and dying, I ran on
deck, and putting the muzzle of the gun to the creature's glazing eye,
fired, and this did its business, for just one spasm ran through it,
and then the terrible, muscular bulk lay motionless.

The men came scrambling aboard. We turned the boy over, and took him
below. Shortly afterwards the tug hove in sight, and we let the beast
lie whilst we got our anchor and manoeuvred with the tow-rope. I am
sorry to say the boy was dead. On our arrival a doctor came and looked
at him, and a crowd tumbled aboard to view the beast. There was not a
scratch on the lad; the tiger had never touched him; the doctor said
he had died of syncope caused by fright.

The owner of the tiger threatened old Bunk with the law, and asked for
a hundred guineas. Bunk started William's mother upon him for
compensation for the loss of her boy, and shortly afterwards the
showman went broke.

_A Midnight Visitor_.

"There are more terrors at sea than shipwreck and fire, more frights
and horrors, mateys, than famine, blindness, and cholera," said the
old seaman with a slow motion of his eyes round upon the little
company of sailors. "I remember a line of poetry--'a thing of beauty
is a joy for ever.' Can any man here tell me who wrote that? Well,