my wife insisted upon my consulting Dr. Kavanagh Smith, who
was my colleague at the Samaritan Hospital.

That gentleman examined me, and pronounced the apex of my left lung to
be in a state of consolidation, recommending me at the same time to go
through a course of medical treatment and to take a long sea-voyage.

My own disposition, which is naturally restless, predisposed me strongly
in favour of the latter piece of advice, and the matter was clinched
by my meeting young Russell, of the firm of White, Russell & White, who
offered me a passage in one of his father's ships, the Marie Celeste,
which was just starting from Boston. "She is a snug little ship," he
said, "and Tibbs, the captain, is an excellent fellow. There is nothing
like a sailing ship for an invalid." I was very much of the same opinion
myself, so I closed with the offer on the spot.

My original plan was that my wife should accompany me on my travels.
She has always been a very poor sailor, however, and there were strong
family reasons against her exposing herself to any risk at the time, so
we determined that she should remain at home. I am not a religious or an
effusive man; but oh, thank God for that! As to leaving my practice, I
was easily reconciled to it, as Jackson, my partner, was a reliable and
hard-working man.

I arrived in Boston on October 12, 1873, and proceeded immediately to
the office of the firm in order to thank them for their courtesy. As
I was sitting in the counting-house waiting until they should be
at liberty to see me, the words Marie Celeste suddenly attracted my
attention. I looked round and saw a very tall, gaunt man, who was
leaning across the polished mahogany counter asking some questions of
the clerk at the other side. His face was turned half towards me, and
I could see that he had a strong dash of negro blood in him, being
probably a quadroon or even nearer akin to the black. His curved
aquiline nose and straight lank hair showed the white strain; but the
dark restless eye, sensuous mouth, and gleaming teeth all told of his
African origin. His complexion was of a sickly, unhealthy yellow, and as
his face was deeply pitted with small-pox, the general impression was so
unfavourable as to be almost revolting. When he spoke, however, it
was in a soft, melodious voice, and in well-chosen words, and he was
evidently a man of some education.

"I wished to ask a few questions about the Marie Celeste," he repeated,
leanin