er with comparative ease. The spirit may seem almost to dip its wings in the ocean of eternity, and yet return to shore with the lightness of the swallow. Raymond Mortimer's vigorous constitution had need, at this gloomy hour, of all its young strength. This night his disorder had reached its climax. It was at its flood tide; and for a time there was no visible change, no movement of the waters. But when morning broke, surprising as was the fact to those who stood around, he was apparently better. The three physicians said that the crisis was past, and that there was a fair chance of his recovery.

All day the boy continued slowly to improve, and the joy in the house had that holy softness which accompanies a great and glad surprise, when doubt is not wholly gone, and the soul is half afraid to trust its hopes.

But the next day and the next saw the patient mending, until at last there appeared to remain no immediate danger. Anna, Mary and Julia were constantly at the bedside of the sick boy, and already they were talking of the delicacies which they would get him in a few days when he should have sufficiently recovered to enjoy them.

Charles Remington had remained several days beyond the time when he had been required to join his ship, but he had duly notified the owners, in order that they might get a man in his stead. He was informed, however, that the ship's departure was, for a few days, postponed on account of a railroad accident by which a portion of the cargo intended for her had been delayed; and that therefore should he come four days

to him by a deep sympathy, and even the girls seemed to feel that the heaven of their new happiness would almost be endangered by his going away, that the terrible sorrow was not far enough passed to permit a feeling of security in the absence of one who had been with them through the whole. How natural the feeling, the experience of every person can testify.

This parting with Anna was the parting of two spirits who had no need of words in order that either might understand the feelings of the other. To her it was no longer the schoolmaster, but a young man whose glances or tone gave her soul a thrill which it had never before experienced. At first they stood by the bedside of Raymond while Charles spoke cheerful words to the poor boy who must remain till health should restore the vigor he had lost. Then, at the very moment of departure, and all unobserved by others, he pressed Anna's soft hand in a manner which brought the rich crimson glowing to her cheeks. His words were few, only these:

"I may come again, may I? And will you let me write to you from Valparaiso ?"

A glance like a sudden sun-ray among red clouds answered him, and upon the sincerity of that answer he would have staked his soul.

We will not speak positively as to what else occurred; but when it is remembered that close to the schoolmaster there was a bewitching waist, and above it two sweet lips such as artists love to think upon, and that Charles Remington was human, the reader has only to imagine what might naturally have happened under such conditions.

CHAPTER V.

THE SHIP ALWILDA.

dozen yoke of oxen, get his latitude and longitude and prick down his position on some sort of an up-country chart? If not, what had he expected to do with sea-learning?

The wind was now unfavorable; but the next day it backed around from northeast to northwest, and at noon the ship got under way, running off before a strong breeze which carried her three hundred nautical miles in twenty-four hours, or at the rate of twelve and a half knots an hour. No one had been shipped in Raymond's place, nor would any other have been taken instead of Charles had he failed to appear; for green hands are not of much account, and the captain of a merchantman does not lose any sleep from discovering that he has put to sea without them after they have shipped to go. So now the Alwilda had thirteen men before the mast, or twelve and a school master, the cook, steward and officers bringing her complement up to nineteen. Charles was fearfully seasick, and for three days could do nothing; his case during a great part of the time being rendered worse from the occurrence of a tremendous gale from the southward which piled the sea into mountains. The storm over, however, he felt better, and in a week from the time of leaving port could meet the various odors from the galley, not only without loathing, but with a hearty appetite. He became accustomed to "scouse," to beans, to codfish, and to the everlasting salt-junk. These things were eaten with a better appetite than that with which he had generally set down to more elaborate dishes on shore.

He showed a lively interest in all the operations of managing the ship; and the sailors expressed surprise at the alacrity with which he performed duties usually very perplexing to green hands. But Charles had a natural aptitude for things of the kind, and the old tars told him that if he had begun young enough he would have made an excellent sailor. Thus he won their good opinion, and this was much.

They were surprised at his complete understanding of navigation. Where had he learned it?-in a barn-yard? And did he ever make sail on the school-house with a

-

Such conversation the jolly tars would have as they sat under the bulwarks in the dog-watches, and Charles enjoyed their quaint ideas exceedingly. They were rough but good-natured fellows, with square faces and short, stumpy forms. Every one of them had in mind some particular ship he was forever talking about. One had sailed in the Taglioni, on three or four voyages between New York and Havre; and nothing which was not othodox on board her could possibly be so anywhere else. Another, who was last from the Coringa, in which he had been to Calcutta, held that ship in no less veneration. A third swore by the Pactolus, an old cotton ship of Portsmouth, New Hampshire; a fourth, by the Patrick Henry, of New York; and thus they went on through the whole.

Some of these honest fellows could not write their own names, and were able to read but very little. So Charles came around to his old calling; and on Sundays, when there was nothing else to do but work ship, he took delight in giving them simple lessons. It impressed him strangely to see these weather-worn men, who were giants on a topsail-yard in a furious gale, become like little children in the study of small, easy words.

The ship made slow progress; being headed off by almost constant southerly winds; and near the edge of the southeast trade, she was becaimed twenty-four days. The sails were clewed up to keep them from slatting with her lazy roll; and to Charles it began to seem as if a breeze was something away back in his memory which he was never to feel again. But there was work enough about ship, —a continual ning of one thing or another.

In the evening watches the men would spin yarns and sing, or growl about the calm, and whistle for wind. Charles himself was a good singer, and the sailors were

surprised at the number of salt-water songs that he knew. Sometimes he would sing them one which they had never heard before, while at other times he would join them in pouring forth something with which they were familiar. With what heartiness the sons of the sea would roar out the lines of Dibdin. Such for example as these:

"A plague of those musty old lubbers
Who tell us to fast and to think,
And patient fall in with life's rubbers,
With nothing but water to drink!

A can of good stuff, had they twigged it,
Would have set them for pleasure agog,
And in spite of the rules

Of the schools,

The old fools

Would have all of them swigged it,

And swore there was nothing like grog."

To the sentiment of the song of which this is a part, Charles, of course, could not subscribe, though his shipmates undoubtedly did so in all sincerity. The ballad about "Poor Jack" he liked better. What

consolation in the last verse!

"Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft As for grief to be taken aback: That same little cherub who sits up aloft

Will look out a good berth for poor Jack." But he did not confine himself to Dibdin, much as he admired that heart-stirring songster. He sang pathetic ballads from other authors, and almost drew tears from the sail

ors' eyes by giving them "Mary's Dream" in richer and clearer notes than they had at command. How far along the ocean the

sweet words floated!

"The moon had climbed the highest hill
That rises o'er the source of Dee,

And from its eastern summit shed
Her silver light o'er tower and tree,
When Mary laid her down to sleep,

Her thoughts on Sandy, far at sea."

Perhaps he put more feeling into the song from the fact that his warm and strong imagination made the scene in some measure personal to himself. Was there not one who dreamed of him now that he was "far at sea"? And should the great ocean swallow him up, might he not in some melancholy vision appear to her from whom he was parted in form but not in spirit, beyond the pathless ocean?

in getting from the "horse-latitude to that of the Cape-de-Verd Islands.

down

Here, however, she had more wind than was necessary, and Charles for the first time witnessed the terrors of a squall at sea. The ship was going along slowly, with studding-sails set, when the second mate, who had been pacing the quarter-deck for the first two bells of the mid-watch, stepped quickly to the cabin door and called the captain. The latter came on deck in shirt and trousers, looked anxiously to the eastward for a moment, and then turning to his officers, said sharply,

"Call all hands, Mr. Roberts, and get in every rag you can! That fellow's coming for us! Why the devil did n't you call me before?"

But Mr. Roberts had called him as soon as the danger appeared, although in the two or three minutes which elapsed before the captain got on deck the cloud had shot up surprisingly.

Forward there! call all hands!" sang out the officer, as he himself jumped to let go some of the studding-sail tacks, sheets and halyards. "Get in these studding-sails! Haul down the flying-jib!"

house forward. "All hands, ahoy!" was roared into the "Tumble out here to shorten sail! Squall, ho!" Meanwhile the third mate sprang from the cabin, and the cook and steward from the house on the booby hatch.

The studding-sails came fluttering inboard; the royal and top-gallant-halyards were let go by the men; the spanker was brailed up; and the men rushed to the clewlines and buntlines of the foresail and mainsail. But the velocity of the squall was astonishing. Already it roared upon the water with the sound of a tempest through a forest.

"Hard up your helm!" cried the captain. "Hard up it is, sir!"

"Let go the topsail-halyards, fore and aft! Clew up the mizzen topsail!”

There was just wind enough for the ship to answer her helm and avoid taking the squall on her broadside. She began to pay slowly off, and just as her stern turned fairly toward the wild and frightful cloud, the tornado rushed over her taffrail. The mizzentopsail sheets had been started and the topsail itself nearly clewed up; but in a moment it was torn from the yard like a rag. The main-topsail was split in two, and the royals and topgallant-sails, although hauled up, were entirely carried away.

The night was a solid block of darkness streaked with tefrific lightning; the thunder broke in deafening peals; the sea hissed and boiled; and the tremendous roar of the wind drowned any attempt of the human voice.

This state of things, however, did not last more than ten minutes, when the tempest ceased almost as suddenly as it had arisen. Then, for a time, the sea shot up to a fearful height, and the ship rolled and wallowed as if all her seams must open and all her masts go by the board. But they did not do so; for a ship is a piece of mechanism exceedingly strong.

After this squall there was much to do. Damaged sails were mended, and new ones bent in place of those that were lost. Then, all injuries being repaired, the daily and nightly routine went on much the same as before, except that the pumps were in more frequent use, as the ship had been somewhat strained, although the leak was not a very bad one. The same light trade-wind continued down to latitude seven, then completely died out; and the ship was no less than twenty-three days in making three degrees of latitude. During most of this time a candle would have burned on deck without a flicker.

In the night-watches the old tars told fearful stories of ships that had been becalmed until all hands perished for want of food. But Charles was slow to believe that this had ever happened. He related to them, however, the story of a sloop which sailed from the Canary Islands for New York about the middle of the last century; and which, having lost all her sails in bad weather, drifted helplessly until she had been at sea one hundred and sixty-five days; at the

end of which time those of hers, atthe survived, and who had eaten their dead shipmates, were taken off by another vessel. But this tragedy was occasioned by too much wind rather than too little.

"Where did you get all these yarns?" said a gruff old fellow, for whom the slack of the fore-topgallant-halyard made a seat as it hung in coils from its pin. "Did you chaps use to sit along under the lee of the larboard ox and talk salt Berkshire all through your watch?"

Charles made some laughing reply; and then, drawn on by questions from the simple sons of Neptune, related to them many authentic marine incidents, of which they had never before heard, but which interested them far more than any of their ordinary forecastle yarns. Their respect for him was increased by his modesty; for he did not forget that they were sailors, while he was a landsman. And he was careful never to obtrude anything uncalled for, or which would give him the appearance of attempting to put his schoolmaster accomplishments upon sea-legs. Any presumption of this kind would have been cuttingly rebuked. It was their pride that they "allowed no man to fool them in a rope."

The occasional faint breezes by which the

calm was interrupted at length brought the Alwilda down to latitude four north, where she struck the southeast trade; but this proved so light and was so often entirely lost that she was more than a month in reaching its southern edge, where, after one more period of tedious calm which endured for fifteen days, her broad canvas was at length filled by the fresh gales of the variables.

So great a prevalence of calm weather was very unusual, and the passage thus far, which should have been made in about fifty days, had occupied more than four months. Some anxiety was felt lest the supply of wa ter should run short, and Charles witnessed an ingenius expedient of the captain's for making it hold out. It was ordered that the tin cup from which the men drank should be carried to the main-topgallant-mast-head; and when any one was thirsty enough to do so, he might go up and get the cup, bring it down and drink from it; but he was always to carry it back, permitting no other person to use it without going through with the like performance. Thus no one would be apt to drink for mere pastime.

CHAPTER VII.

THE LEAK THAT WOULD NOT STOP.

on

HE ship had now wind enough, and the captain carried sail on her very hard. On the morning after she got the strong westerly breeze abeam, Charles came deck with the watch at four o'clock, and found the state of things to be such as he had not witnessed since the early part of the passage. The exhilarating gale had put all hands in spirits. Away out in the darkness the white caps of the seas leaped up in broken lines; and against the ship's side there was a dash and roar which had not been heard for months. The big rollers, tumbling under the Alwilda's bilge, gave her every moment a quick, heavy throw, as she lay over with the piping wind, while the very decks trembled with the strain from the great spars. It was one of those occasions which gladden sailors' hearts. and which are especially welcome after long calms or head-winds.

"It's blowing pretty hard for the mainsail," said the second mate, to whose watch Charles belonged, looking in at the cabin door and speaking to the captain, one of whose regulations was that his subordinates should never make or shorten sail without calling him.

The "old man" came on deck. "Well," said he, "it is blowing rather hard. but I don't want to shorten sail if I can help it.