CHAPTER III.

Luckily the water was only four feet deep, as Charley found when he tried to touch bottom; so he stopped swimming, and with the water nearly up to his shoulders, stood still and began to think what to do next.

The canoes--including the sunken _Midnight_--were a good mile from the shore, and although the sandy shoal on which Charley was standing was firm and hard, it was of small extent, and the water all around it was too deep to be waded.

"You'll have to get into one of our canoes," said Harry.

"How am I going to do it without capsizing her?" replied Charley.

"I don't believe it can be done," said Harry, as he looked first at the _Sunshine_ and then at the _Twilight_; "but then you've got to do it somehow. You can't swim a whole mile, can you?"

"Of course I can't, but then it won't do me any good to spill one of you fellows by trying to climb out of the water into a canoe that's as full now as she ought to be. Besides, I'm not going to desert the _Midnight_."

"I thought the _Midnight_ had deserted you," said Joe. "If my canoe should go to the bottom of the lake without giving me any warning, I shouldn't think it a bit rude to leave her there."

"Don't talk nonsense!" exclaimed Charley; "but come here and help me get my canoe afloat again. We can do it, I think, if we go to work the right way."

Charley found no difficulty in getting hold of the painter of his canoe with the help of his paddle. Giving the end of the painter to Joe, he took the _Dawn_'s painter, and by ducking down under the water succeeded after two or three attempts in reeving it through the stern-post of the sunken canoe, and giving one end to Harry and the other to Tom. Then, taking the bow painter from Joe, he grasped it firmly with both hands, and at a given signal all the boys, except Joe, made a desperate effort to bring the wreck to the surface.

They could not do it. They managed to lift her off the bottom, but Harry and Tom in their canoes could not lift to any advantage, and so were forced to let her settle down again.

"I've got to unload her," said Charley, gloomily. "I think we can get her up if there is nothing in her except water. Anyhow we've got to try."

It was tiresome work to get the water-soaked stores and canned provisions out of the canoe, and Charley had to duck his head under the water at least a dozen times before the heaviest part of the _Midnight_'s cargo could be brought up and passed into the other canoes. His comrades wanted to jump overboard and help him, but he convinced them that they would have great difficulty in climbing back into their canoes, and that in all probability they would capsize themselves in so doing. "He's right!" cried Joe. "Commodore, please make an order that hereafter only one canoe shall be wrecked at a time. We must keep some dry stores in the fleet."

When the _Midnight_ was partly unloaded, a new and successful effort was made to raise her. As soon as she reached the surface Charley rolled her over, bottom upward, and in this position the small amount of air imprisoned under her kept her afloat.

The cause of the leak was quickly discovered. There was a hole through her canvas bottom nearly an inch in diameter, made by some blow she had received while on the way to the lake. The wonder was, not that she sank when she did, but that she had floated long enough to be paddled a mile. It is probable that the ballast-bag, which was close by the hole, had partly stopped the leak at first, but had afterward been slightly moved, thus permitting the water to rush freely in.

The surface of painted canvas dries very quickly in the hot sun, and it was not long before the bottom of the _Midnight_ was dry enough to be temporarily patched. Harry lighted his spirit-lamp and melted a little of the lump of resin and tallow which had been provided for mending leaks. This was spread over a patch of new canvas; the patch was then placed over the hole, and more of the melted resin and tallow smeared over it. In about fifteen minutes the patch was dry enough to be serviceable, and Charley righted the canoe, bailed her out, and by throwing himself across the cockpit, and then carefully turning himself so as to get his legs into it, found himself once more afloat and ready to paddle.

The canoe still leaked, but the leak could be kept under without difficulty by occasional bailing, and in the course of half an hour the sand-spit for which the fleet had started was reached. It was part of a large island with steep, rocky shores and a beautiful little sandy beach. It was just the place for a camp; and though the boys had expected to camp some miles farther north, the sinking of Charley's canoe had so delayed them that it was already nearly six o'clock, and they therefore decided to paddle no farther that day.

The canoes were hauled out on the beach and unloaded, and shored up with their rudders, back-boards, and a few pieces of drift-wood so as to stand on an even keel. Then came the work of rigging shelters over them for the night. Harry's canoe tent was supported by four small upright sticks resting on the deck and fitting into cross-pieces sewed into the roof of the tent. The sides and ends buttoned down to the gunwale and deck of the canoe, and two curtains, one on each side, which could be rolled up like carriage curtains in fair weather and buttoned down in rainy weather, served both as the doors and windows of the tent. The shelters rigged by the other boys were much less complete. The two masts of each canoe were stepped, the paddle was lashed between them, and a rubber blanket was hung over the paddle, with its edges reaching nearly to the ground. The blankets and the bags which served as pillows were then arranged, and the canoes were ready for the night.

It was a warm and clear night, and a breeze which came up from the south at sunset blew the mosquitoes away. Harry found his tent, with the curtains rolled up, cool and pleasant; but his fellow-canoeists found themselves fairly suffocating under their rubber blankets, and were compelled to throw them aside.

Toward morning, when the day was just beginning to dawn, the canoeists were suddenly awakened by a rush of many heavy, trampling feet which shook the ground. It was enough to startle any one, and the boys sprang up in such a hurry that Harry struck his head against the roof of his tent, knocked it down, upset the canoe, and could not at first decide whether he was taking part in a railway collision, or whether an earthquake of the very best quality had happened. The cause of the disturbance was a herd of horses trotting down to the water's edge to drink. There were at least twenty of them, and had the canoes happened to be in their path, they might have stumbled over them in the faint morning light; in which case the boys would have had the experience of being shipwrecked on dry land.

A gentle southerly breeze wrinkled the water while breakfast was cooking, and the Commodore ordered that the masts and sails should be got ready for use. It was impossible to make an early start, for Charley's blankets had to be dried in the sun, and the hole in his canoe had to be repaired with a new patch in a thorough and workmanlike way. It was therefore ten o'clock before the canoes were ready to be launched; and in the mean time the wind had increased so much that the boys decided to use only their mainsails.

The moment the sails drew, the canoes shot off at a pace which filled the young canoeists with delight. The canoes were in good trim for sailing, as they were not overloaded; and while they were skirting the west shore of the island the water was quite smooth. Each canoe carried a bag partly filled with sand for ballast, and every one except Joe had lashed his ballast-bag to the keelson. This was a precaution which Joe had forgotten to take, and before long he had good reason to regret his error.

As soon as the northern end of the island was passed, the canoes came to a part of the lake where there was quite a heavy sea. The _Dawn_ and the _Twilight_ were steered by the paddle, which passed through a row-lock provided for the purpose; and Joe and Tom found little difficulty in keeping their canoes directly before the wind. The two other canoes were steered with rudders, and occasionally, when their bows dipped, their rudders were thrown nearly out of the water, in consequence of which they steered wildly. All the canoes showed a tendency to roll a good deal, and now and then a little water would wash over the deck. It was fine sport running down the lake with such a breeze, and the boys enjoyed it immensely.

The wind continued to rise, and the lake became covered with white caps. "Commodore," said Charley Smith, "I don't mean to show any disrespect to my commanding officer, but it seems to me this is getting a little risky."

"How is it risky?" asked Harry. "You're a sailor, and know twice as much about boats as I do, if I am Commodore."

"It's risky in two or three ways. For instance, if the wind blows like this much longer, a following sea will swamp some one of us."

"Oh, we're going fast enough to keep out of the way of the sea," cried Joe.

"Just notice how your canoe comes almost to a dead stop every time she sinks between two seas, and you won't feel quite so sure that you're running faster than the sea is."

The boys saw that Charley was right. The canoes were so light that they lost their headway between the seas, and it was evident that they were in danger of being overtaken by a following sea.

"Tell us two or three more dangers, just to cheer us up, won't you?" asked Joe, who was in high spirits with the excitement of the sail.

"There's the danger of rolling our booms under, and there is a great deal of danger that Harry's canoe and mine will broach to when our rudders are out of water."

"What will happen if they do broach to?"

"They'll capsize, that's all," replied Charley.

"What had we better do?" asked Harry. "There's no use in capsizing ourselves in the middle of the lake."

"My advice is that we haul on the port tack, and run over to the west shore. The moment we get this wind and sea on the quarter, we shall be all right--though, to be sure, we've got more sail up than we ought to have."

The canoes were quite near together, with the exception of the _Twilight_, which was outsailing the others; but even she was still near enough to be hailed. Harry hailed her, and ordered the fleet to steer for a cove on the west shore. As soon as the wind was brought on the port quarter, the canoes increased their speed; and although the _Twilight_ made more leeway than the others, she drew ahead of them very fast. The wind was now precisely what the canoes wanted to bring out their sailing qualities. The _Sunshine_ soon showed that she was the most weatherly, as the _Twilight_ was the least weatherly, of the fleet. The _Midnight_ kept up very fairly with the _Sunshine_; and the _Dawn_, with her small lateen-sail, skimmed over the water so fast that it was evident that if she could have carried the big balance-lug of the _Sunshine_ she would easily have beaten her.

The canoes were no longer in danger of being swamped; but the wind continuing to rise, the boys found that they were carrying more sail than was safe. They did not want to take in their sails and paddle, and though all of the sails except the _Dawn_'s lateen could be reefed, nobody wanted to be the first to propose to reef; and Harry in his excitement forgot all about reefing. The wind, which had been blowing very steadily, now began to blow in gusts, and the boys had to lean far out to windward to keep their canoes right side up.

"We can't keep on this way much longer without coming to grief," Charley cried at the top of his lungs, so that Harry, who was some distance to windward, could hear him.

"What do you say?" replied Harry.

"We've got too much sail on," yelled Charley.

"Of course we'll sail on. This is perfectly gorgeous," was Harry's answer.

"He don't hear," said Charley. "I say, Joe, you'd better take in your mainsail, and set the dandy in its place. You'll spill yourself presently."

"The dandy's stowed down, below, where I can't get at it. I guess I can hold her up till we get across."

Tom was by this time far out of hailing distance, and was apparently getting on very well. Charley did not doubt that he could manage his own canoe well enough, but he was very uneasy about Harry and Joe, who did not seem to realize that they were carrying sail altogether too recklessly. The fleet was nearly two miles from the shore, and a capsize in the heavy sea that was running would have been no joke.

Charley turned part-way around in his canoe to see if his life-belt was in handy reach. As he did so he saw that the water a quarter of a mile to windward was black with a fierce squall that was approaching. He instantly brought his canoe up to the wind, so that the squall would strike him on the port bow, and called out to Harry and Joe to follow his example. Harry did not hear him, and Joe, instead of promptly following Charley's advice, stopped to wonder what he was trying to do. The squall explained the matter almost immediately. It struck the _Sunshine_ and the _Dawn_, and instantly capsized them, and then rushed on to overtake Tom, and to convince him that Lake Memphremagog is not a good place for inexperienced canoeists who want to carry sail recklessly in squally weather.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE BEDOUIN POSTMAN.

BY SARA KEABLES HUNT.

The postman in our Western lands is a common sight to city children; they meet him at every corner, jostle against him on their way to school, and spring for the messages which he brings from far-off friends and distant relatives. No child but has a welcome for the postman.

But the carrier whose strange and picturesque figure is shown in the illustration on the following page has but little resemblance to our daily visitor on his hurrying round through our crowded cities. His route is the desert--a dangerous, solitary, and fatiguing journey. Borne by his lithe dromedary over its arid wastes, he paces the desert track, with no pause in the nine days' travel, save when at some oasis he stops to drink the cool water and to refresh his tired camel. At the edge of the desert he leaves his precious load, taking in exchange the return mail. He seldom penetrates into the cities' depths and crowded bazars, or rests in the fragrant gardens of Damascus, but jogs backward and forward over the dreary waste, loaded with messages from the outer world, and yet indifferent to them all, except to deliver each one in safety.

I wonder if he never wearies of his monotonous existence, or sighs for some excitement in his silent journey, and for some companionship besides that of his enduring steed?

I could never see this express-courier start forth on his desert journey without being reminded of some lone mariner setting sail on a wide sea for some distant port. The desert is so much like the ocean, with its boundless expanse, the same unbroken curve of the horizon, the same tracklessness and solitude. So the camel is often called "the ship of the desert." Yet monotonous as the journey of this postman seems, he has to be continually on the alert. It is not always silent meditation under the burning sky and changeless heavens. There are hidden dangers lurking on every side--plundering Arabs and terrible sand-storms. Many a traveller is buried under the fierce drifts, suffocated by the driving sand sleet.

As this singular postman swings on his way under the coppery sky, his Syrian song fills the silence of the desert noon; the high shrill notes tremble and ring in the air in a dreary strain, harmonizing with the sultry, unchanging landscape. The camel steps more quickly to the music, but the rider seems lost in a deep reverie.

No monk in his cell is more isolated than this old letter-carrier, so shut out from the world, so separated from all human kind, yet carrying messages of such lively interest.

WILLIE'S ADVENTURE.

A True Story.

BY E. M. TRAQUAIR.

"Mamma," said Willie Beetham, "may I go down to the beach this morning?"

"No, my boy; you know I don't like your going down there by yourself, and nurse is too busy to take you and Lucy out just yet. You can go there with her after luncheon."

Willie looked very much disappointed. "There's no fun going out with nurse," he said; "she won't let me do anything. It is always: 'Now, Master Willie, don't go there; you'll soil your shoes. Master Willie, come back; you'll tumble into the water.' Going with her is all very well for girls and babies; but I am a big boy now. You said so yourself to papa the other day. I can take care of myself quite well."

The "big boy" was a bonny little fellow of six years' old, with golden hair, and a sunny smile that won every one's heart. He was a bold, thoughtless boy, always getting into mischief, but of such an affectionate disposition, so sorry for having done anything to vex those he loved, that no one was ever angry with him long. This made him less careful, perhaps, in being obedient than he ought to have been.

"No, my boy, you can't be trusted to go by yourself just yet. You can go into the garden and play with Lucy for a little. When nurse is ready, she will take you both out for a walk on the beach."

Willie was very fond of his little sister, who cared for nobody so much as for him. So he drew her about for a while in his little cart, ran races, and pulled daisies with her in the field. But all would not do. He wanted to go down to the shore. Where he stood he could see the bright waves rolling in to land. He forgot all that had been said to him, and resolved to go. He would not stay long.

"Lucy, I am going down to the beach for a little while. Wait here till I come back, and don't tell any one where I have gone. I'll be back in a quarter of an hour."

Off he ran without waiting for a reply. Lucy remained quietly sitting, pulling the daisies, and plaiting them into a long chain, thinking how it would please her brother. The quarter of an hour passed, half an hour, an hour. Willie did not appear. Lucy was too faithful to leave her post; but time was beginning to hang heavy on her hands, and, besides, she was growing frightened at his absence. Lucy began to cry.

What was Willie about meanwhile? On reaching the shore, which was only about five minutes' walk from the house, his delight knew no bounds at being able to scamper about everywhere without being perpetually called to order. He ran races with the waves that were rolling in, clear and shining, and breaking in white foam on the yellow sands, and shouted with glee when he just saved his distance, and escaped without even wetting the toes of his boots. Then he tossed about the great heaps of brown weed and tangle, and searched for the lovely crimson sea-weed his elder sister used to gather and set so prettily on white paper when she came home for the holidays. Then, as the tide was low, he scrambled in among the rocks, and in the clear pools he found crabs and cockles and beautiful red and striped sea-anemones. Willie was very fond of natural history, which his papa used to teach him occasionally, and he became so absorbed in examining these pretty things that he not only forgot what his mamma had said, but also his promise to his little sister of returning in a quarter of an hour.

He was still busy poking about in the clear water of the pool, when he suddenly felt a cold plash on his foot. Starting up, he saw, to his dismay, that the water had been gradually creeping up and surrounding the low rock on which he was standing looking into the pool. At first he could not think how that had come about, as the sands had been quite dry toward the land side when he first went on to it. Suddenly it dawned on him that the tide must be rising. He did not know very well what the rising and falling tide meant, as his parents had not lived very long by the sea, but he remembered hearing his papa speak of people having been caught by the high tide and drowned. If he had started at once, he might still have got safely to shore by wading. But he was too much terrified to think of trying it. Looking about him, he saw a large flat rock near, and with some difficulty he succeeded in scrambling on to it. He thought it must be high enough to shelter him, until the tide should fall again. Had he not heard papa say that the tide fell as well as rose?

Placed thus, as he thought, in a position of safety, Willie's spirits began to rise again. All his fear had vanished, and he began to pretend to himself that he was a shipwrecked sailor cast away on a desert island; and he could not help laughing with glee when the merry little waves, dashing against the rock he was standing on, sent up sparkling showers of spray that seemed trying to reach him, but couldn't.

"Aha!" he thought, "you'll be clever if you catch me here on this big rock. I wish you'd be quick and go lower, though. I want to go home to mamma and Lucy."

Instead of going lower, however, the water kept rising higher and higher, until at length a wave, in breaking on the rock, sent a shower of spray in Willie's face.

The tide had been rising so fast that the shore seemed a long distance away now. The rock where he had been standing looking into the pool was now completely covered with water.

Oh, how he wished himself now sitting with Lucy plucking daisies in the field! How he repented of having been so disobedient to his kind mamma, who, he remembered now when it was too late, never forbade him anything except for his own good! How he resolved that he would never, never more be disobedient if he should ever again reach the land! But still the water kept rising.

In the mean time poor little Lucy sat crying on the lawn with her lap full of daisies.

"Miss Lucy! Miss Lucy! come in and get on a clean pinafore before luncheon."

"Lucy tan't tome in yet, nursie; Lucy p'omised to wait here for Willie."

"Why, I thought Master Willie was here with you. Where is he gone to?"

"Lucy no tell oo where Willie is don to. Lucy p'omised no tell 'at Willie is don to de beach."

"Gone down to the beach, indeed? Well, his mamma will be real angry, and his papa too."

Lucy began to cry again at the thought of papa and mamma being angry with Willie; but nurse carried her off to get her clean pinafore on before luncheon.

"Are the children ready, nurse?" called papa from the dining-room. Papa liked to have his little people about him at meal-times.

"Miss Lucy is a-coming, sir; but she says Master Willie has gone down to the shore."

"To the shore! impossible!" says mamma. "I told him this morning he was not to go alone."

"Well, ma'am, all I know is that Miss Lucy says so; and, as I can't find him nowhere, I think it must be so."

"Run down to the beach and see if he is there," says papa. "If he is disobedient like this, we must be more severe with him in future."

They began luncheon.

Suddenly, in the midst of carving a fowl, Mr. Beetham dropped the carving knife and fork.

"My dear," he said to his wife. "I hope it is not a spring-tide to-day. If it be, and that boy has got among the rocks, it might be a bad business."

The almanac was consulted, and announced a high spring-tide for that day. Any little boy or girl who had seen the dismay on Mr. and Mrs. Beetham's faces on learning this would have resolved never to be disobedient again so as to grieve such kind parents.

Mr. Beetham was starting up to go himself in search of the naughty little truant, when nurse rushed in to the room.

"Oh, sir!" she cried, "Master Willie is standing on a rock far out in the sea. He is waving his handkerchief and shouting, but there is no getting to him."

"Run for Fisherman Ralph," said Mr. Beetham.

"My dear," to his wife, "don't be afraid. Ralph's boat will soon get him ashore. Mind little Lucy while I run down and help to get it out."

But he was very much afraid, for all that, when, on reaching the beach, he saw his little boy standing on a point of rock that threatened every instant to be covered with the rising water.

"Ralph," he cried, as the fisherman--a tall, stalwart figure in a blue cap and corduroys--came up, "where is your boat?"

"Jack's gone a-fishing in it," said Ralph.

"Heavens! what shall we do?" cried Mr. Beetham. "My boy will be drowned before my very eyes."

"Not if I can help it, sir," said Ralph, throwing off his jacket. "I'm big enough. I'll see if I can't wade to him."

"He'll never reach him," cried Mr. Beetham, running up and down the beach in an agony of anxiety, which was shared by all the by-standers, as the strong man strode on with the water above his waist, and the rock still not reached. It was nearly up to his shoulders before he got to where Willie stood.

"Steady, steady, young master. Don't be afraid of a wetting, and don't hold on so fast. I've got you safe enough now." And so, half wading, half swimming, the gallant fellow, battling with the great waves that were now rolling in heavily, brought poor Willie, drenched and cold, to land, and laid him in his glad father's arms.

Another minute and the rock had disappeared.

Willie learned a lesson that day which he has never forgotten, and after papa, mamma, and little Lucy, there is no one he loves so much as big Fisherman Ralph, who saved his life on the day of the high tide.

PERIL AND PRIVATION.

BY JAMES PAYN.

THE TRIALS OF PHILIP AUSTIN.

It is not seldom, in the melancholy records of shipwreck, that the "noble savage" maintains the character with which writers of romance have invested him. He is generally cruel, pitiless, greedy of gain, and more to be feared by the helpless mariner than the reef or the storm. There have been, however, one or two exceptions to this general rule, and the British sailor Captain Philip Austin had reason to speak well of the Caribs of Tobago.

In 1756 he sailed from Barbadoes, in a brig of eighty tons, to the Dutch settlement of Surinam. These people were so much in need of horses that at that time no vessel was permitted to trade with them of whose lading horses did not form a part, and, as well may be imagined, they were not the safest kind of cargo. So rigidly was this strange rule enforced that masters of ships were compelled to preserve the ears and hoofs of horses dying on the passage, and to make oath that they had embarked them alive for the colony.

On the night of the 10th of August, of the year mentioned, when near their journey's end, and while Austin and his mate were keeping watch together, "sitting on hen-coops" and "telling stories to one another, in order to while away the time, according to the customs of mariners of all countries," the broadside of the brig suddenly turned to windward, through the fouling of the tiller, and there being a heavy sea on, she filled at once, so that five out of the nine men who formed her crew "were drowned in their hammocks without a groan." The vessel then upset, going completely over, with her masts and sails in the water, "the horses rolling out above each other, and the whole together exhibiting a most distressing sight."

The coast was of sand, and the sea comparatively shallow, so that some portions of the brig were above water. To these the survivors clung, and at once stripped themselves of their clothes, except one who could not swim, and who was therefore without hope of saving himself by that means. There was one small boat, twelve feet long, fortunately unsecured by lashings, and this floated out, and was seized upon by the mate, but it was bottom upward.

Austin swam out to him, and the two endeavored to right her. This, after many efforts, was accomplished, "the mate contriving to put his feet against the gunwale and to seize the keel with his hands," while Austin "tilted her up from the opposite side with his shoulders." She was still, however, full of water. This was got rid of in a very ingenious manner, for the enormous hat which Austin wore, "after the fashion of the dwellers in the West Indies," was useless to bail her. The mast of the brig rose and fell some twenty feet, and the captain fastened a rope to its top, and held on to it from the boat. Whenever the vessel rose, it lifted up him and the boat, by which three-fourths of the water was emptied; but "having no means of disengaging her from the masts and shrouds, they fell down, driving him and the boat under the surface, and nearly breaking his thigh."

Despite his wound, which, however, rendered any further attempt without assistance hopeless, Austin threw himself into the water, and with the rope in his mouth swam to the men on board the brig, who, by their united strength, hauled the boat over the brig's stern, and emptied it. A hole, however, was knocked in it by this rough treatment, which was repaired by being stuffed with the shirt of the man who could not swim, and had therefore retained that garment. They had no oar, no sail, and except a dog belonging to the captain, "which was gladly taken in case of necessity," no provisions.

The brig remained longer above water than might have been expected, for she had casks of flour and butter on board, "the former of which slowly imbibes water, and the latter always swims," but none of these things could be got at. When she sank, the boat being still kept near her, a chest containing clothes and linen, with chocolate and sugar, floated out of her, and for these poor sailors it contained more than the riches of the Indies. It was too large, however, to be lifted into the boat, which, indeed, it would have sunk; and though they exhausted every means to open it, they found this impossible, and had to let it go. They picked up thirteen floating onions, and that was all.

They had no fresh-water; they were without any kind of implement except a knife, which was in the pocket of the sailor who could not swim, and they calculated that at the very nearest they were one hundred and fifty miles from land. Surely never were human creatures in a worse position.

Not a moment, however, was lost in vain regrets. By patient perseverance they loosened one of the planks with which the boat was lined, and formed it into a kind of mast, which they tied to the foremost thwart; another piece of plank served as a yard, and to this they fixed their only pair of trousers for a sail. Two of the men had always to lie along the gunwale with their backs to the waves, which would otherwise have swamped the boat, and, even so, another had constantly to bail it by means of the Dutch hat.

Thus they ran before the wind all night at the rate of about a league an hour. At daylight they ate half an onion each, which "wonderfully revived them," but they were tormented with agonies of thirst. Their naked limbs, too, were so scorched with the sun that from head to foot they were red and blistered as from fire. On the third day the captain killed his dog. He "afterward reflected on it with regret, but at that time no such sentiment affected him."

At last the exhausted men gave themselves up to despair, and refused to make any more exertions for their own deliverance, nor would he who had to bail the boat continue to do so, though Austin fell "on his knees to entreat him."

On the fifth day an enormous shark followed the boat--an omen the dark meaning of which was only too well known to them; and this depressed them still further. The dog had long been eaten, and they caught but one flying-fish, which was little indeed among so many. There were several heavy showers, but there was nothing to catch the rain in but the hat and the trousers, which had become so impregnated by salt-water that they were almost useless for that purpose. "Their only resource was endeavoring to catch a few drops as they fell into their open mouths to cool the heat of their tongues."

The two seamen drank sea-water and became delirious, but the captain and mate resisted that temptation; they each kept a nail in his mouth, and sprinkled his head with water, which afforded but slight relief to their sufferings. On the eighth day the two men died, but in the evening the boat reached land, and the two survivors, "forsaking the bodies of their companions, crept out of the boat and crawled on all fours" along the sand. The cliffs that walled it they were quite unable to climb up.

At eight in the morning a young Carib discovered them, "whose eyes, upon beholding their forlorn appearance, filled with tears." He understood a few French words, and informed them that they were on the island of Tobago. He brought them fresh-water, which they drank with passionate eagerness, and cakes of cassava and broiled fish, which they could not swallow.

Other natives showed them similar kindness, removing the two corpses out of the boat "with signs of the utmost compassion," and following in all respects the example of the good Samaritan. They brought soup, which seemed to Austin the most delicious food he had ever tasted, but his stomach was in so weak a state that it refused to retain it. Herbs and broth were prepared for him by the women, and his wound was bathed with a lotion made of tobacco. Every morning the men lifted these unfortunates from their hammocks, and carried them in their arms under the shade of a lemon-tree while they anointed their blistered skin with a healing oil pressed from the tails of crabs.

In consequence of this friendly care and attention Austin was able in three weeks to go about on crutches, and receive Carib visitors from all parts of the island, "none of whom came empty handed." He gave boards with his name cut on them, to be shown to any ship captains who might chance to touch on the island, and after many weeks this plan met with success. A sloop, bound for Martinique, laden with mules, touched at Sandy Point, the western extremity of Tobago, and its master at once sent the intelligence to Messrs. Roscoe & Nyles at Barbadoes, the owners of Captain Austin's bark, who promptly sent a small vessel to fetch him.

When about to depart, the friendly Caribs loaded him down with presents of poultry and fruit, especially oranges and lemons, which they thought useful for his recovery. He had absolutely nothing to give them in return, save the boat in which he had arrived, and which they might have taken without his leave. More than thirty of them accompanied him to the beach, where, at parting from them, "neither Austin nor the mate could refrain from tears."

The effects of the poor captain's privations were lasting. His digestion was so impaired that he could hardly speak or walk, and had to give up his calling and return to England. His case excited much public attention. A Bath physician, Dr. Russell, who had resided in the East, and was accustomed to deal with cases arising from long-protracted thirst in the Arabian deserts, came to London to prescribe for him. By means of constant bathing, and asses' milk for his only diet, Austin regained his health in six months, and survived his disaster two-and-twenty years.

HOW BILLY WENT UP IN THE WORLD.

BY ANNETTE NOBLE.