Chapter Six.
Skipper Brown relates a Remarkable Story.
“And now, gents,” said the skipper, when we had satisfactorily arranged the important and rather delicate matter referring to the improvement of his speech and deportment, “I’m sorter hankerin’ to have a talk with you both about that there letter I was tellin’ you of a while ago—the letter that was handed to me just as we was makin’ a start from Baltimore, and that I forgot all about until we was fairly out to sea.
“This here letter told me— But stop a bit; if I want you to understand the thing properly, and I surely do, I guess I’ll have to give you the whole history of it from the very beginnin’. Along about three months ago, just after I’d got home from my last v’yage, I happened to have a bit of business to attend to that called for a trip over to New York; and when I’d got through with what I had to do, the fancy took me to stay over for a day or two and have a look round, me not havin’ been in New York for quite a number of years before, you’ll understand. And while I was doin’ my lookin’ around I must needs go nosin’, like a fool, down into the Bowery. And down there I runs up agin a ragged skeleton that looks me hard in the face and hails me with: ‘Hello, Eph Brown, what cheer? Blamed if you ain’t the very chap that I’ve been most wantin’ to see.’
“I guess I was pretty well struck of a heap, for I didn’t reckernise the chap from Adam; all I noticed was that he didn’t seem to ha’ had a bath since his mother give him one as a baby, that he was dressed in clo’es that ought by rights to have belonged to a scarecrow, that he was that thin and cadaverous he might have just escaped from the Morgue, and that his breath was reekin’ of cheap whisky.
“‘Now, who in Tom Hawkins may you be?’ says I; for, you see, the feller knowed my name all right, yet, seein’ where we was, and what the man looked like, I sorter suspicioned that he wasn’t exactly square, and was tryin’ to get at me.
“‘What!’ he says; ‘d’ye mean to say as ye don’t remember me—Abe Johnson—what used to play with yer in the old days when we was boys together away in dear old Nantucket?’—Nantucket, you’ll understand, gents, bein’ the place where I was born.
“‘No,’ says I, ‘I don’t, and that’s the cold, solid truth. But if you’re really Abe Johnson you’ll remember the names of a few people in Nantucket, and a few of the things that we done together. Where, f’r instance, did I live when you knew me?’
“Well, he told me where I lived, give me the names of a lot of people that we both used to know, and reminded me of a good many things that we done together that I’d clean forgot all about until he mentioned ’em. Oh yes, he was Abe, sure; and when he see that he’d satisfied me upon that p’int, he told me a real downright pitiful tale, and struck me for ten dollars. He was right away down on his luck, he said; and I guess he was speakin’ the truth, if looks went for anything.
“Now, Abe never had amounted to much when I knew him; he was just a low-down, ornery cuss every way that you looked at him. But I was al’ays a bit tender-hearted, and I sorter pitied the feller; so a’ter I passed over the ten-spot to him I took him into a restyrong and filled him up with a good square meal. And while we was eatin’ he told me a long yarn about what he’d been doin’; how he’d tried fust one thing and then another, and had finally took to the sea. And it seemed that his bad luck had follered him there, for he’d ended up by bein’ shipwrecked upon one of them uncharted reefs that you runs up agin sometimes in the Pacific, he bein’ the only survivor out of the whole crowd. If he was tellin’ me the truth he must ha’ had a pretty rough time on that reef, for he described it as bein’ as bare as the back of your hand, with nothin’ to eat but birds’ eggs and clams, and only a small, tricklin’ stream of brackish, scarcely drinkable water to quench his thirst with. And he was on that there reef five solid months afore a whaler comed along and, seein’ his signals, took him off, and later transferred him to another ship that brought him home.
“Now when Abe had got this far with his yarn he begun to get mysterious, sunk his voice to a whisper, and asked if he could trust me. I told him that he best knew whether he could or not, and that anyway, if the thing was a secret, I didn’t want to hear anything about it.
“‘Ah, but,’ says he, ‘there’s a fortune in it—a fortune for both of us, Eph, if I can only trust you.’
“‘Well,’ I says, ‘as I told ye before, that’s for you to decide. But if you’re agoin’ to trust me, get along with your trustin’, for I reckon I’ve had about enough of this ’ere place; I don’t like the looks of the folks I sees around me, not a little bit, and I’m growin’ sorter keen to get out of it.’
“‘All right,’ he says, ‘let’s git.’ So we got, and made our way to Central Park, where we found a seat in a quiet, secluded spot, and sat ourselves down. And there, a’ter sayin’ as he’d got a secret that he must share with somebody if he was to get any good out of it, and that I was the only reely honest feller he knowed, Abe up and told me how, a’ter he’d built a bit of a raft out of some of the wreckage of the ship, so’s he could go off fishin’ in her, he one day happened to hit upon a big bed of pearl-oysters, thousan’s—millions of ’em! He sorter guessed what they was when he first set eyes on ’em, as he looked down through the clear green water, and tried to get down to ’em by divin’. But that wa’n’t no good; the water was too deep—a good five fathom he said there was over ’em—and then there was sharks about too. So he unlaid a bit o’ rope from the wreckage, knocked some nails out o’ some o’ the timber that had druv ashore, and fixed up a sorter small grapple, with which he went gropin’ out on this here oyster bed. But the thing wasn’t of much account, accordin’ to what Abe himself said. First he’d got to git it just so over a oyster afore it’d take holt; and then, when he’d hooked one, as often as not the blamed thing’d let go agin afore he got the oyster up out o’ water: consequently it come to this, that with all his gropin’ he only managed to land four oysters altogether. But out of them four two had pearls in ’em, one bein’ as big as a small marble, while the others was little ’uns—three of ’em—’bout the size of cherry stones.
“Well, he took care of them there pearls, and managed to bring ’em home with him. And then, ’stead of takin’ of ’em to a respectable jeweller, he must needs try to trade ’em off to a Chinaman! Of course you can guess what happened. The Chink purtended that he was game to buy, took Abe to his house—leastways the Chink said it was his—doped Abe, stole the pearls, and vamoosed!
“Then, a few days a’terwards, along comes I; and when Abe reckernised me he made up his mind in a minute what he’d do. First of all he offered to sell me the secret of the whereabouts of the oyster bed for fifty thousand dollars! Only fifty thousand, mind yer, and nothin’ but his bare word for it that there was so much as a single oyster in the place! I got up to go away and leave him; and then he asked me if I was game to go shares with him—he to give me the secret, I to go out to the Pacific and fish up the pearls, and the two of us to divide equally when I got back home again. Well, that was somethin’ more like a business proposition, and after a lot o’ talk I agreed; and he give me the latitood and longitood of the place right there, afore I left him, I givin’ him a hundred dollars on account, to carry him along a bit until he could get a job. Then I went back home to Baltimore and began to figure upon the best way to work the scheme. I wa’n’t rich enough to make the trip purely as a speculation, so at last I hit upon the sandalwood idea, which I reckon’ll pay the expenses of the v’yage and return me a profit, even if I don’t find nary a pearl, although I’ve a very good notion that they’re where Abe said they was. The next thing I did was to get a few p’ints upon the ins-and-outs of sandalwood tradin’; and when I’d done that I started out to get my stock of notions, overhaul the schooner and make her ready for the v’yage, and look about for a crew of men that I could be sure wouldn’t play no tricks after we’d got hold of the pearls.
“We sailed from Baltimore the day a’ter Christmas, and, as we was castin’ off, this here letter that I told ye about was handed aboard. And when I come to open it, what d’ye think was the news in it? Reckon you’ll never guess. I’ve got a cousin ’way over in Nantucket—he’s pretty well-to-do—and findin’ myself runnin’ a bit short o’ money when it come to fittin’ out the schooner, I went over to him, told him all about Abe and the pearls, and asked him to lend me a thousand dollars to leave with my old Marthy, to keep her goin’ while I was away. He knows me, and let me have the dollars straight away. Well, this here letter was from him; and what it said was that he was writin’ in a hurry to tell me that he’d just heard, quite by accident, that Abe was dead—died in hospital in New York, havin’ been run over and fatally injured by an express wagon two days a’ter I’d left him. And—this is where the trouble comes in—afore he died he sent post-haste for his brother-in-law, Abner Slocum, to go to him to oncet, as he had somethin’ most terrible partic’lar to tell him. Abner went; and although my cousin don’t know what Abe told him, he guesses it had somethin’ to do with the pearls, because when Abner got back after buryin’ Abe he went to work in a most tremenjous hurry to get his schooner, the Kingfisher, ready for sea, observin’ the greatest secrecy about it, and refusin’ to say what the hurry was, or where he was boun’ to. But he was layin’ in such a big stock of provisions and water that people got talkin’ about it; and that was how my cousin got to hear what was goin’ on. But he didn’t get to hear of it until just at the very last, which was on the day that the Kingfisher went to sea, which was two days before Christmas! So, you see, this Abner Slocum was in such a tarnation hurry to git away that he wouldn’t even wait to spend Christmas with his wife and kiddies. Now, what d’ye make of that yarn?”
“Well,” said Cunningham, “I am bound to admit, Captain, that it looks very much as though your friend Abe, finding himself upon his deathbed, had sent for his brother-in-law and divulged to him the secret of the oyster bed. Probably when he found himself dying, and realised that he could derive no personal benefit from his discovery, he wished that the wealth should go to his own family.”
“That’s how I figure it out,” agreed the skipper. “But I reckon that my claim’s just as good as Abner’s, Abe havin’ entered into a business agreement with me. Besides, it isn’t as though Abner’d make good use of the money when he’d got it. I know Abner Slocum through and through, and I tell you, gents, that he’s out-and-out the very worst character in all Nantucket—a real, downright hard case, and—well, everything that’s bad; and if he happens to get any o’ them pearls he’ll just drink hisself to death in three months, and most likely kill his wife into the bargain.”
“Then in that case,” said I, “it seems to me that it will be a great deal better that he should not have any of them.”
“Well, that’s just my view of it too,” agreed the skipper. “But I guess he’s goin’ to do his level best to get hold of ’em,” he continued. “I reckon that Abe must ha’ told him that he’d parted with his secret to me, and that I was fittin’ out to go in search of them there oysters, and that’s the reason why he was so all-fired anxious to get to sea before me. And as a matter o’ fact he did it; he sailed three clear days ahead of me, and must ha’ been just about off Cape Henry when we cleared it. So it’s a race between the two schooners which’ll get there fust, and, barrin’ accidents, I reckon it’s goin’ to be a neck-and-neck one, for the Kingfisher’s the smartest schooner sailin’ out o’ Nantucket; and although Abner Slocum’s such a downright ‘bad man’ I’ll say this for him—there ain’t a better seaman sailin’ under ‘Old Glory’ than what he is.
“Now, gents, this here is my idee. I’m agoin’ to carry on, night and day, to get to that there spot in the Pacific where them pearls be; and when I gets there I’m goin’ to scrape up as many oysters as ever I can lay hands on. And when I’ve got ’em, and have realised upon ’em, I shall look upon half of the proceeds as belongin’ to Abe, or—he bein’ dead—his heirs. But I mean to take partic’ler care that, let the heirs be who they may, that skunk Abner don’t touch a penny of the money. If it turns out that Abner’s children is the heirs, then I’m goin’ to app’int trustees to look a’ter the money for ’em until a’ter Abner’s dead, and then they can have it.”
“Bravo, Captain!” exclaimed Cunningham, patting the skipper approvingly on the back. “A most wise and honourable decision to have arrived at, I call it; and, so far as I am concerned, I’ll do all I can to help you to carry it out. By the way, how do you propose to obtain the oysters when you arrive at the spot where, according to your friend Abe, they are to be found?”
“How do I intend to get ’em?” repeated the skipper. “Why, with a trawl, of course. I’ve got some specially strong trawlin’ gear aboard, made o’ purpose for the job.”
“I see,” commented Cunningham. “It did not occur to you to get any diving gear, I suppose?”
“Well—no, it didn’t, and that’s a fact,” answered the skipper. “But I guess we’ll find that the trawl’ll work all right,” he added cheerfully.
“Yes, no doubt,” agreed Cunningham. “But of course,” he added, “the diving system would have worked very much more rapidly, because, you see, if you had happened to possess a set of diving gear you could have anchored the schooner right over the bed, sent your diver down with two large sacks, or nets, and while he filled one you could have hauled up the other and emptied it into the bins or barrels ranged round the decks in readiness to be conveyed ashore and emptied after the day’s work on the bed was over. In that manner you could have secured several thousands of oysters daily.”
“Ay, I reckon we could. But I guess we’ll have to be content to work with the trawl, seein’ that we’ve neither divin’ gear nor diver aboard,” replied the skipper, rather regretfully.
“Well, I am not quite so sure about that,” observed Cunningham thoughtfully. “I have the germ of an idea in my head, and will see if I cannot develop it. Do you happen to have any rubber hose on board?”
“Sure!” replied the skipper. “Got a hundred feet of brand new hose for washin’ decks with. It’s a bit extravagant, I know, but I ’low it’ll pay in the long run.”
“It most certainly will, and very handsomely too, if I can put my idea into shape. Have you used the hose at all yet?” asked Cunningham.
“Used it every mornin’ since we left Baltimore,” replied the skipper.
“Then let me earnestly beg you not to use it any more, just for the present at least,” entreated the engineer.
“Just as you say,” answered the skipper cheerfully. “We’ve got our old canvas hose stowed away somewhere. I’ll have it routed out.”
“Right,” agreed Cunningham. “And while I’m keeping my watch on deck I’ll think over this scheme of mine. I should rather like you to get the better of that man—what is his name?—oh yes, Slocum!”
“Yes, that’s all right,” assented the skipper. “But—look here, if that there scheme of yourn has to do with divin’, Mister, who’s goin’ to do the divin’? I don’t know nothin’ about it.”
“But I do,” remarked Cunningham cheerfully. “I’ll do the diving if I can only work out this idea that has come to me. And I believe I can.”
From this point the conversation drifted away into generalities, and finally the skipper went below, leaving me in charge of the deck and of the forenoon watch. Later on Brown informed me that the late mate’s cabin was entirely at my service, while Cunningham was inducted into a small spare stateroom which was in use as a sort of extra sail-room, but which the skipper ordered to be cleared out for the engineer’s accommodation. Also, it appeared that when the late mate went overboard he left behind him a very fine sextant, which the skipper had purchased at the auction of the effects of the deceased, and this instrument he allowed me to use.
We, the new arrivals aboard the Martha Brown, shook down into our positions with a degree of promptitude that excited the liveliest admiration of the skipper. He was a shrewd old fellow, however, and for the first two days after our arrival he remained on deck all day, and was frequently up and down during the night, frankly confessing that he was anxious to observe the manner in which his new officers performed their duties; but after that he announced his intention to sleep in all night, laughingly declaring that as he was now employing two mates he saw no reason why he should not leave them to do the work and take his ease like a gentleman. He was good enough to express his complete satisfaction with my abilities as a navigator, and opened his eyes in astonishment when he saw that I was not content with a mere daily observation of the meridian altitude of the sun, but used as well such comparatively intricate problems as those of the double altitudes, lunars, altitudes of the stars, and Great Circle sailing. But what gratified him most of all, I think, was the fact that before we had been aboard two days I had got Simpson, the sailmaker, at work upon an enormous jack-yard gaff-topsail for use in light winds, the only gaff-topsail that the schooner had hitherto possessed being a trumpery little jib-headed affair which she could carry in quite a strong breeze. I also caused a set of preventer backstays to be fitted, which enabled us to carry an amount of canvas in a breeze that would otherwise have been impossible.
We certainly did carry on in a manner that sometimes made the old man gasp with astonishment, for hitherto he had been in the habit of sailing his schooner in a very jog-trot fashion; but now we handled her as we would have done a racer, and it was surprising to see how, day after day, her mileage increased, and how rapidly her track on the chart stretched southward. The skipper, in his groping, cautious way, had fully intended to make sure of his position by heading for and sighting the Falklands before attempting to make the Straits, but I told him I regarded that as an utterly useless waste of time, and worked out a Great Circle track direct for Cape Virgins, at the entrance to the Straits, to his mingled consternation and delight. “If you don’t cast the schooner away between you,” he said, “I guess we’ll get to that there oyster bank early enough to clean it out before the Kingfisher arrives; for, smart seaman as Slocum thinks hisself, I reckon he ain’t a patch on you for carryin’ on.”
For the first three or four days after our arrival on board the Martha Brown, Cunningham devoted his energies entirely to the task of qualifying himself to take charge of a watch, looking after the ship, and generally polishing up his somewhat rusty seamanship; but he very quickly settled into his place, and then, whenever he had a spare moment, he got to work with a pencil and paper, making sketches and calculations. Then, one evening in the second dog-watch, he brought to me a sheet of paper on which he had sketched the outline of a human figure; he first showed me this, and then, producing a tape measure, he desired me to measure him very accurately, jotting down upon the diagram the several measurements as I called them out.
Then, a day or two afterwards, I found him busily at work with a quantity of light, thin, iron rod, which he had routed out from among the ship’s stores. This rod he cut up into carefully measured lengths, and he welded and riveted these together, with the aid of a portable forge which he had rigged up on the lee side of the fore deck, until, in the course of a week, he had constructed some half a dozen light but strong skeleton frames. Having tried and proved these to his satisfaction, he procured an empty oak barrel, and, taking it carefully to pieces, set the carpenter to work to saw, cut out, and carefully plane up a number of thin strips from the staves. Then, when he had got as many of these strips as he required, he had small holes bored in them in certain positions, and, by means of a quantity of fine wire, proceeded to bind them carefully and strongly to the skeleton frames which he had previously made. And when he had done that, to my amazement he calmly proceeded to induct himself into them, with my assistance, and I then saw that the whole affair constituted a complete body armour of a kind, helmet and all. But, even then, I had no idea of what he was driving at until he condescended to explain.
“This,” he said, “is the foundation of my diving suit, which will be complete when I have covered it with a double thickness of well-oiled canvas. The framework of thin rod will keep the water pressure off my body; the battens will support the outer covering of canvas and prevent it from bursting; and you will see that by the arrangement which I have adopted I secure ample flexibility for my purpose. Then, as soon as we arrive at our destination, I intend to have one of the screw deck-lights bodily removed and temporarily fixed in my helmet, which will enable me to see what I am doing when under water. Of course I shall need weights to hold me down; and my air will come down to me through the rubber deck hose, one end of which will be let into the back of my helmet, while the other will be firmly secured to some portion of the schooner where it will be out of the way. Of course it will be a very rough-and-ready, makeshift affair, but I believe it will prove fairly efficient for the purpose.”
Cunningham’s next business was to cut out and have sewn together for himself a single garment which combined the functions of stockings, trousers, and shirt. This was made of a double thickness of stout canvas, each thickness being well coated on both sides with two coats of boiled oil. It was a weird-looking garment, as it was intended to fit on outside the armour arrangement which he called his diving suit; but it was merely intended to exclude the water, and when it was finished and fitted I saw that it would serve its purpose perfectly well, and there seemed to be no reason why he should not be able to work in it at the bottom of the sea perfectly well. And he completed the whole affair by firmly attaching one end of the rubber hose pipe to the back of his helmet.
We made Cape Virgins on the day and at the hour, and almost the minute, which I had predicted, to the intense admiration and delight of the skipper; and reached Punta Arenas, in the Strait of Magellan, on the afternoon of the same day. Here we came to an anchor, and Brown, Cunningham, and I went ashore, the skipper’s business being to arrange for the refilling of our water tanks and the supply of a quantity of fresh meat, Cunningham’s just to take a look round and stretch his long legs a bit, and mine to report the seizure of the Zenobia by Bainbridge and the crew, and to post to the owners a letter upon the same subject which I had prepared at my leisure. Our first enquiry was as to whether the Kingfisher had passed, and Brown’s delight was great when he learned that thus far nothing had been seen of her.
We left Punta Arenas shortly after noon on the day following that of our arrival, still with no sign of the Kingfisher, and, being lucky enough to get a fine little slant of wind, safely accomplished the dangerous passage and entered the Pacific on the evening of the succeeding day. The slant of wind held long enough to enable us to gain an offing of a trifle over a hundred miles, and then it died away and left us becalmed and rolling gunwale under on the long Pacific swell.
Yes, there could be no doubt that the Martha Brown knew how to roll; it was my first experience of her in a flat calm and a heavy swell, and had we not hastily rigged rolling tackles I verily believe that she would have rolled the masts out of her. Even the skipper, proud as he was of her, felt obliged to make some sort of apology for her, which he wound up by saying: “But some day a smarty’ll come along and invent some way of turnin’ this here rollin’ to account as a means of propulsion, and then you’ll see that builders’ll fashion all ships upon the model of the Marthy.”
“Eh? What’s that? Just say that again, Captain,” remarked Cunningham, who, it being the second dog-watch, happened to be on deck.
The skipper said it again.
“Y–e–es,” agreed Cunningham, thoughtfully, “y–e–es, I shouldn’t wonder;” and he walked away contemplatively.
“Now I wouldn’t be so very powerful surprised if he was to turn out to be the smarty that I just mentioned,” observed the skipper, jerking his thumb toward where Cunningham stood gazing abstractedly over the taffrail, with his feet wide apart and his hands locked behind him, balancing himself to the violent movements of the little vessel.
“Possibly,” I agreed. “Cunningham is of a very inventive turn of mind. But to convert the rolling motion of a ship into a forward movement is a pretty tall order, and would probably require exceedingly complicated machinery. The idea is by no means new, and I believe several inventors have had a turn at it; but nothing practical seems to have come of it as yet.”
Nothing further was said upon the subject just then; but, the calm continuing all night and all the next day, I several times caught Cunningham with paper before him and a pencil in his hand, sketching and calculating. And when the next day also proved calm, and our observations showed that we had not progressed a couple of miles upon our journey, the skipper again addressed Cunningham upon the subject, asking him half-jestingly if he had not yet been able to devise some scheme to turn the eternal rolling to account.
“Oh yes!” answered Cunningham; “I dare say I could rig up some sort of an arrangement, if it were worth while. But it would be rather a cumbersome contrivance to ship and unship, and I would not recommend it unless there is likely to be much of this sort of thing between here and our destination.”
“Well,” said the skipper, “I reckon we may depend pretty certainly upon at least a fortnight of ca’ms afore we arrive at that there oyster bed; and it’d be worth a whole lot to me to get there a fortnight ahead of the Kingfisher. What’s the thing like that you’ve invented, Mister, and could we knock it up out o’ the stuff as we’ve got aboard?”
“Oh yes!” answered Cunningham, “I have kept strictly in mind our capabilities in the preparation of my sketch. I could easily devise a much better and more efficient concern, I am sure; but that would be quite useless to you, because we have neither the materials nor the skilled labour aboard to produce it. But,” he continued, producing a pencil and paper and beginning to sketch rapidly, “I think we might manage to knock together a contrivance of this sort. There would be two of them, you understand, one on each side of the ship. This represents a stout timber frame, which would be secured in place by short lengths of chain bowsed taut by tackles, so that it would remain rigidly in position. It would reach from the rail down to about three feet below the surface of the water. This outrigger arrangement, which should be about nine feet long, will serve as the attachment for what we may call a fin, made of flexible planking securely fixed at its fore end to the outrigger, but quite free to move at the other end. Now this fin, being submerged when the frame is fixed in place, will be acted upon by the pressure of the water as the ship rolls, and will bend alternately upward and downward at an angle, the effect being that every time the ship rolls the bent fin will force backward a considerable quantity of water, or, what is the same thing, will have a tendency to thrust the ship forward at a rate which I estimate at—well, say about three knots per hour.”
“Three knots an hour,” repeated the skipper. “’Tain’t very much, is it? I thought, maybe, that you’d be able to fix up somethin’ that ’d shove her along at about ten or twelve knots.”
Cunningham laughed as he shook his head. “Come, come, Captain!” he protested, “be reasonable. To get ten or twelve knots out of this schooner you would require a steam engine of some eighty to a hundred horse power.”
“Ay,” admitted the skipper, rather unwillingly, “I s’pose I should. Three knots an hour. That’s, in round figures, seventy miles from noon to noon. And that, for, say, fourteen days, is—how much?”
“Nine hundred and eighty miles; call it a thousand,” answered Cunningham.
“A thousand miles. Jings! It mounts up when you come to look at it that way,” averred the skipper. “Look here, Mister,” he continued, after thinking for a minute, “how long do you reckon it would take you to fix up that concarn of yours?”
“Oh, not very long,” answered Cunningham. “The very roughest of workmanship would do, so long as it was strong. I dare say Chips and I could put it together in—well—say four days.”
“Four days,” repeated the skipper; “four days. Then I reckon you better go ahead straight away; and turn it out as quick as ever you can, for this here ca’m looks as though it meant to last a goodish while yet. The glass is high an’ steady, with an upward tendency, if anything, and I don’t see no sign of wind anywheres about.”
Within an hour Cunningham and Chips were hard at work upon the contrivance for circumventing the “ca’ms”, and before knocking-off time they had got on deck all the timber they required, and some of it sawn to its proper length. The next day saw the completion of the cutting, sawing, and planing; and then came a fresh westerly breeze which enabled us to lay up within about two points of our course for the next five days, during which Cunningham completed his work, all but the bolting on of the fins, which could be done in about ten minutes. Then the wind gradually veered until we were not only enabled to lay our course, but had it a couple of points free, when, the wind being light, our big jack-yard gaff-topsail came into play with magnificent effect, pushing the little hooker along at about six knots, when but for it she would scarcely have done four. And finally it fell calm again, and the schooner lost steerage way altogether. There was again every sign that the calm was likely to be prolonged—in fact, we were in the latitudes of the “Doldrums”, or calms that occur just to the north and south of the Trade winds, where, as on the Line, the calms sometimes last for weeks at a stretch. It was therefore an excellent opportunity to test Cunningham’s contrivance, and we accordingly proceeded to bolt it up and fix it in position. It was rather an awkward and cumbersome arrangement, demanding the united strength of all hands to get it over the side, and it took us a full hour to get both parts fixed firmly and to Cunningham’s satisfaction. But it had not been in position five minutes before we saw that it was going to prove a success; for not only did it serve to steady the little vessel, and ease her rolling to a considerable extent, but she immediately began to gather way, and within half an hour was slipping along through the water at the rate of a shade over four knots by the log. The skipper was enchanted. “Furl everything, Mr Temple,” he said, “and head her due no’th. We’ll just meander along now under bare poles until we runs into the south-east Trades; and when once we hits them we’ll be all right, and needn’t start tack nor sheet again until we reaches our oyster bed.”