As soon as his companions had left him, Stephen went off and brought up as much dried wood as he could carry, among it a piece of plank that was almost rotten.  This he crumbled up.  Then he set the cask of salt junk on end, and with a heavy piece of rock hammered away until he forced the head in.  Then he took out a good-sized piece of meat and put it into the well.  The water here was constantly changing, a current flowing through it towards the sea.  Then he brought up two or three more loads of wreckage and sat down under the awning, for it could scarcely be termed a tent, as both ends were open to allow a free passage for the air.  Here he sat for some hours, occasionally getting up and looking over the sea to the right and left.  It was not until it was nearly noon and the sun was overhead that he could try the experiment upon which he relied to obtain fire.  When it was nearly vertical he went down to the well, opened his watch-case, and dipped the glass carefully into the water.  He thought of trying to take it out of the case, but the risk of breaking it would have been too great.  Carrying it very carefully, he went up to the tent again and sat down beside his little heap of crumbled wood and held the watch-glass full of water over it.

As he expected he found that it made an admirable burning-glass, its only drawback being that it was only available when the sun was overhead.  Almost instantaneously as the focus fell upon the wood the latter began to smoke, and in less than a minute a flame sprang up.  Some small splinters that he had got ready were placed on it, and in a very short time a fire was blazing.  As soon as the wood was well alight he had poured off the water and very carefully wiped the glass and the rim that held it.  He went a short distance away as soon as the fire was burning well, and was pleased to find that no smoke was given off, the sun having dried the wreckage until not the slightest particle of moisture remained in it.  He now kept a sharp look-out along the shore, but it was not until nearly five o’clock that he saw his companions issue from the trees a mile and a half away and move along the sand.  He went down to the well, took out the meat, and brought it up and laid it on the rock to dry.  He felt sure that by this time the water would have removed the greater portion of the salt, and that he would now be able to roast it satisfactorily.

He had already got two forked twigs as a support for his spit, and, taking the ramrod from the gun, thrust it through the meat.  He had ceased putting on fresh wood the moment he saw the others come from the forest.  The fire soon sank down to a mass of glowing embers, over which he put the meat, the ends of the ramrod being supported by the forked twigs.  He turned it round and round occasionally to prevent it from burning, and although he had himself been indifferent as to whether they could obtain means for cooking the junk, he felt a ravenous appetite as the odour of the meat rose.  Just as he came to the conclusion that the meat must be cooked through, Wilcox and Joyce arrived.  They stopped in amazement as their eyes fell on the fire.

“Come on, Wilcox,” Stephen said with a laugh.  “Don’t stand staring there.  Dinner is ready, and I am only waiting for you to begin.”

“I am downright famished,” the sailor said as he came up.  “I would not have believed it if I had not seen it.  How on earth did you manage it?”

“Not by rubbing pieces of wood together, Wilcox, but by filling my watch-glass with water and using it as a burning-glass; it lit the wood in less than a minute; only it would not do, you know, unless the sun was right overhead, and I had to wait until twelve o’clock before I tried the experiment.”

The meat was cut up into three huge portions, and using biscuits as plates they speedily set to work upon it.

“You have pretty well got rid of the salt,” Wilcox said after his first mouthful.  “It is well-nigh as good as roast meat.  How did you do that, sir?”

“It was in the well for seven or eight hours,” Stephen replied.  “The water was running through it, so that it was as good as putting it into a river.  Salt meat is best boiled, but as I had no pot to boil it in, I thought I would try and roast it; and, as you say, the water has got rid of the salt altogether.”

“It is the best bit of meat that I have eaten since I left England,” Wilcox said.  “Well, I don’t mind now if we stop here for another month.  We have meat and biscuits, and I reckon, Mr. Stephen, that you will be able to think of some plan for making flap-jacks out of the flour, and we have found a cocoa-nut grove.  So we shall be able to live like kings.”

The next morning Stephen was again left in charge of the fire, and the other two started to fetch a fresh load of cocoa-nuts, saying that they should be back by twelve o’clock, and should expect to find that he had got something new for them.  After putting a piece of meat into the well Stephen made a fresh experiment.  Fishing out a great lump of fat from the cask, he first washed it carefully to get rid of the salt, then put it into half a cocoa-nut shell, placed this on some hot embers and fried the fat until most of it melted, and then squeezed the remainder between two flat stones.  Then he poured the fat into another cocoa-nut half full of milk, put three or four pounds of flour on a flat rock, made a hollow in the middle as he had seen the servant do at home while making pastry, poured the liquor gradually into this, mixing it up with the flour until he had made the whole into dough.  Then he cleared away a portion of the embers, and dividing the dough into flat cakes placed these on the hot ground.  Half an hour later he cleared another space from embers, and turned the cakes over, and in twenty minutes they were baked through.  They were pronounced excellent by his companions as they ate them with their meat.

“We must not be too lavish,” Stephen said, “as we do not know how long we may have to wait here.  I propose for breakfast that we have biscuits only, then for dinner we will have some meat and biscuits again, and for supper cold meat and cakes.  How much meat do you think there is, Wilcox?”

“There is supposed to be a hundred and a half in that cask, Mr. Embleton.”

“Well, that will last us just about a month,” Stephen said, “at a pound and a half each a day.  I propose that we have that allowance for a fortnight, and if there are no signs of the ship by that time we can then reduce ourselves to three-quarters of a pound a day.  At that rate it will last for six weeks altogether.  The flour and the biscuits would last twice as long, but we must keep a good stock of them on hand, so as to have a store if we take to the canoe again.”

This proposal was agreed to.  They had, however, been there about a week when early one morning Joyce discovered a sail far away on the horizon.  In great excitement they hurried down to the canoe, which had been brought along and hauled up on the rocks.

“Put her into the water to see if the sun has opened her seams.”

Finding that it had done so, they filled her and then hauled her just beyond the edge of the water.  Then they went up to their tent again.

“There ain’t much wind,” the sailor said, “and it will die away altogether in an hour or two.  It is no good our doing anything until we see which way she is heading.  If it is the Tiger, I reckon she is making for this spot, and we can wait till the afternoon anyhow before we take to the canoe.  If it is only a chance ship, and we find she is bearing a course that brings her anywhere near us, we must take to the canoe at once.  I should say she is a good five-and-twenty miles away, but anyhow we can get out to her before the evening breeze springs up.”

By nine o’clock they made out that the ship was certainly heading in their direction.  Then the wind left her, and presently they saw her swing broadside on to them.

“She is very like the Tiger,” Joyce said.  “She is just about the same size and barque-rigged, but we cannot see her hull.”

“She is the Tiger sure enough,” Wilcox said.  “Her heading this way made it pretty well certain, but I think I could swear to her now.”

“Well, I vote we start for her at once.  What do you say, Stephen?”

“I think so, Tom.  Certainly it will be a long row in the heat, but that does not matter.  We had better put a stock of biscuits and cocoa-nuts on board.  One never knows about the weather here, and before night there might be another cyclone, then she might have to run for it.  We should have to make for the nearest land, and might not be able to get back here for two or three days.”

As they had eaten their first meal there was no reason for any delay.  The canoe was emptied out, a store sufficient for two or three days put on board, and they were soon on their way.  They took the bearings of the ship by various points of the island before they started, lest it should come over thick.

“It ain’t no use hurrying,” Wilcox said as they dipped their paddles in the water.  “We have got a good five hours’ pull before us, and whether it is five or seven it don’t make much difference.”

They had each cut a square of canvas with which to cover their heads and shoulders, and at short intervals they dipped these in the sea and so kept off at least a portion of the extreme heat.  The boat was much less heavily laden than it had been on their previous journey, and went lightly through the water.  In spite of their agreement to take it easy their impatience to reach the ship, on whose upper sails their eyes were fixed as they paddled, prevented their doing so, and for the first two hours they rowed at almost racing pace.  Then the heat of the sun began to tell upon them, their efforts slackened, and their pace decreased materially.  However, they could now make out the line of the hull above the horizon, and knew that she could not be at most more than some eight miles away, and in little more than two hours they were within half a mile of her.  It was their old ship the Tiger.  By this time they could see that they were objects of eager curiosity on board, and presently they heard loud cheers come across the water.

“They have made us out,” Joyce said.  “Of course, at first they took us for a native canoe, for they would be looking for the gig.  They don’t know yet what bad news we have to tell them.”

In a few minutes they were alongside, but as soon as they were within hail the captain had shouted out: 

“Are all well?”

“No, sir,” Joyce, who was in the bow, shouted back, “I am sorry to say that Mr. Towel and the rest have all been killed by the Malays.”

The news effectually damped the feeling of delight that had been excited on board when it was known that the canoe contained three of the boat’s party, for whose safety the greatest anxiety had been felt, the captain alone having entertained any hopes that the gig could have lived through the storm.  However, as they climbed up the ladder to the deck they were shaken warmly by the hand by officers and crew, and then the captain requested Joyce and Stephen to come down to his cabin, while Wilcox went forward to tell the story to the crew.  The first and third mates also came into the cabin.  Joyce then, as the senior, told the story of all that had happened from the time the cyclone had burst upon them.

“You see, sir,” he said when he came to the conclusion, “I owe my life entirely to Stephen and Wilcox.”

“I see that plainly enough, Mr. Joyce,” the captain said gravely.  “They behaved admirably both in that and in the whole subsequent proceedings.  You were lucky indeed in hitting on the spot where we were separated.  We were four hundred miles away when we got out of the cyclone.  The wind has been very light, and we have gone close to every island we have passed on our way here.  It was, of course, most doubtful whether you would be able to find the place where the wreck was, for you too might have been carried hundreds of miles in an entirely different direction, and without your instruments you would have had but a small chance of discovering your position or finding your way here.  Still, it seemed the only chance.  Of course I could not tell whether when you landed you found the wreck had been stripped by the natives; but if you had not done so it seemed to me you would certainly make your way there if you could, for you would know there were no natives near, and you might, for all I could tell, have found various stores cast up that would enable you to live for a long time.

“It has been, as you say, a sad business indeed.  Six lives have been lost, and, as it appears to me from your story, unnecessarily; it was a grievous mistake going up that river.  I can understand Mr. Towel’s anxiety to obtain a stock of provisions of some sort to victual the boat for a long cruise, but he should have endeavoured to ascertain first, by following the bank on foot, whether there were any native villages there before venturing up in the boat; and to fire guns until he had ascertained that there were no enemy near, is another instance of that fatal carelessness that costs so many lives.  However, the poor fellow of course acted for the best, and he has paid dearly for his error.  That expedient of yours for lighting a fire, Steve, was a very ingenious one, and does you a great deal of credit.  I don’t think that it would have occurred to me.  Altogether, young gentlemen, you seem to have behaved extremely prudently and well.  I am sorry to tell you that your comrade Archer was washed overboard in the cyclone, and two of the men were killed by being struck by a spar that got adrift.”

The news of Archer’s death greatly destroyed the pleasure of the lads at finding themselves safely on board the Tiger again, and they took up their work with very sorrowful hearts.

For another two months the Tiger continued her cruise among the islands without any adventure occurring.  By the end of that time they had disposed of their goods and had taken in a large number of the native productions in exchange, and the ship’s course was laid north again for Calcutta, where they filled up with Indian produce and then sailed for home.

Five months later they arrived in the Thames, the only bad weather they had encountered being a storm as they entered the Channel.  They anchored at Gravesend, and the captain told Stephen to land and take a post-chaise up to London, and report to Mr. Hewson that the Tiger would come up on the tide next morning.  It was eight o’clock in the evening when Stephen arrived at his employer’s.  Mr. Hewson received him with great kindness.

“I am always very glad when I hear that one of my ships is safe in port,” he said; “for however great my confidence, there are times when human skill and strength are of no avail.  I did not expect that the Tiger would be back for another month or so, and am heartily glad to hear that she has returned.  All has gone well, I hope?”

“I am sorry to say, sir, that we have lost altogether nine lives, including those of Mr. Towel, the second officer, and Archer, my fellow apprentice.”

“That is bad indeed,” Mr. Hewson said in a tone of great concern.  “How did it happen?”

Stephen related briefly the events that had brought about the misfortunes.  “I am sorry indeed,” Mr. Hewson said he had concluded; “but it is a consolation to me that none of the lives were lost from any deficiency in the ship’s gear or appointments.  The boat must have been an excellent one indeed to have carried you in safety through a cyclone, in which, as we know, the stoutest ships will sometimes founder.  As to the accident on board, it was one of those things that too often occur in a heavy gale, and that cannot be provided against.  Of course, I shall hear from the captain all details of that affair.  As to your adventure on shore, you must give me a much fuller account when you have had some supper.  I shall release you at once from duty, and you had better go down by the coach to-morrow morning to Dover.  I know that your father is anxious to see you.  He wrote to me about three weeks ago, asking me when I expected the Tiger to be home.  I know what his reason is, but I think that he would wish to be the first to speak to you about it himself.”

“There is nothing wrong, sir, I hope?”

“No, lad, in no way.  It is another matter altogether.”

Supper was brought up, and Stephen did full justice to it, for the ship had touched nowhere on her way home from Calcutta, and after feeding so long almost entirely on salt meat, he thoroughly enjoyed the change of fresh provisions.  The next morning he started by the seven-o’clock coach for Dover, and arrived there at eight that evening.

“You have grown indeed, Stephen!” his father said after the first delighted greetings were over.  “Let me think.  You have been away nearly eighteen months.  That does make a good deal of difference; still, you have grown more than I should have expected.  I used to think that you would be rather short, but now you bid fair to be a good average height, and you have widened out amazingly.  Where are your traps, lad?  Have you ordered them to be sent up from the coach office?”

“I have not brought any down with me, father.  The Tiger only got to Gravesend at five o’clock yesterday afternoon, and the captain sent me up by post-chaise to tell Mr. Hewson that she was in.  I got to his place at eight, and he told me that I had better start by this morning’s coach, as he knew that you were anxious to see me.”

“He didn’t tell you what for, Stephen?”

“No, sir.  He said that he thought that you would prefer to tell me yourself.”

“Well, Stephen, I have been anxious for you to get home, for I had a letter from Lord Cochrane about three weeks ago.  He told me that he had not forgotten the promise he had made me, to give you a berth if he ever had a chance.  He said that the opportunity had come now, for that he had been offered the command of the Chilian navy, and should be shortly starting-as soon, in fact, as he could make his arrangements and get his house off his hands.  He said that he thought it would be five or six weeks before he was able to sail, and that he would take you out with him as his flag-midshipman.  Of course I wrote to him at once, saying where you were, and that you might be home any day, but that, on the other hand, you might not be back for two or three months.  However, if you arrived in time I was sure that you would be delighted at the chance of serving under him; still I said that of course I could not ask him to keep the berth open for you.  Well, he wrote in reply that he would, at any rate, give me a month, but if at the end of that time I had not heard of you, he must appoint some one else; for, as he said, ’I know nothing of the Chilian language, and of course I shall want some one to blow up in English.’”

Stephen laughed.  “That would be splendid, father.  I have been very happy on board the Tiger, and certainly should not like to leave her to sail on any other trading ship.  No one could be kinder than the captain and the mates have been.  But of course I should like awfully to serve with Lord Cochrane, especially as I have heard so much of him from you.  But why have the Chilians appointed a foreigner to command their fleet?  Are they fighting with anyone?”

“They are fighting the Spanish, Stephen.  They have gone into the war to aid Peru, or rather to free Peru from her oppressors.  The Chilians have only just started a navy of their own, and it is altogether outnumbered by the Spanish; but they wisely think that with such a man as Cochrane, who is a host in himself, who has won against much greater odds, they will be able to hold their own, and I have no doubt you will have a stirring time.  I only wish that I had been able to go with him.  He was good enough to say so in his letter to me.  That is unfortunately out of the question.  However, Stephen, you must choose for yourself.  There is no saying what may come of this business.  You know that Lord Cochrane is a hot-headed man, and one who does not mince matters.  The Chilians, I believe, are the brightest and most energetic of any of the South American peoples, but that, you know, is not saying a great deal.  Cochrane is sure to be maddened by delays and difficulties of all kinds, and if so he will certainly speak out in a way that will ruffle their feelings greatly, and may bring on trouble.

“He is what is called an impracticable man, Stephen.  He is himself the soul of honour and generosity, and so is altogether unable to refrain from giving vent to his indignation and disgust when he sees these qualities lacking in others.  He has ruined his own career here by his intolerance of wrong, whether the wrong was inflicted upon himself or upon others.  He has rather injured than benefited the cause of our seamen by the intemperate zeal with which he pressed his reforms, and by allying himself heart and soul with the ultra-radicals.  Such a man as he may get on well with a people like the South Americans, his dashing bravery, his frankness, and his disregard of ceremony will render him popular among the people at large, but will raise up for him enemies innumerable among the governing class.  I cannot, therefore, for a minute think that the present arrangement will be a permanent one.  I say all this to assure you that you cannot expect to find a permanent career in the service of Chili; but, on the other hand, you will have the advantage of fighting under the bravest officer of modern times.

“You will, I have no doubt, take part in some brilliant feats.  And to have served under Cochrane will, as long as you live, be a feather in your cap, just as I feel that it is a great honour for myself, although it has been to my pecuniary disadvantage, to have done so.  I have exchanged letters with Mr. Hewson on the subject.  He has behaved with the greatest kindness in the matter, and agrees with me that it would in some respects be a great advantage to you.  He has offered in the kindest possible way to allow your apprenticeship to run on while you are with Cochrane, just as if you were still serving with his own ships, and whenever you may return to England he will reinstate you in his service, the time you have been away counting just the same as if you had been with him.  I expressed a doubt whether your apprenticeship would count; but he said that any master being, from any circumstances, unable to teach a trade to an apprentice, as he covenanted to do, could, with the consent of that apprentice, hand him over to another employer; and that as you will be learning the sea as efficiently on the coast of Chili as elsewhere, he could loan you, as it were, to Lord Cochrane.  Besides, of course, there is no real necessity for passing through an apprenticeship in order to become an officer.  Large numbers of men do, in fact, become officers without ever having been apprenticed, as it is only necessary to serve so many years at sea, and to pass an examination.  Still, there are advantages the other way.  All ship-owners prefer a man who has served an apprenticeship in a good line of ships, as he would naturally be better mannered and better educated, and therefore better fitted for the position of an officer in ships carrying passengers.  In that way it would be as well that you should obtain your discharge at the end of your term of apprenticeship from Mr. Hewson, although I have some doubts whether your sea-service under a foreign flag would be allowed to count by the examiners if you went up to pass as a mate.  Upon the other hand, lad, you are now in a good service, and are certain to get on if you remain in it; and you have less chance of being shot than if you go with Cochrane.”

“I don’t know that, father.  I can tell you I have had just as close a shave under Captain Pinder as I could have under Lord Cochrane.  Only three of us out of nine got through; the other six were killed and eaten by the Malays; and if the Spaniards kill a man, at least they will not eat him.  Oh, I should certainly like to go with Lord Cochrane!”

“I thought you would.  As far as one can see there is no chance of our being engaged in any naval wars for many years to come, for all Europe is in alliance with us, and is likely to continue so; and even if we have trouble with any of them, our fleet is so overpoweringly strong that even a coalition of all the other powers of Europe could not stand against us at sea.  It is a good thing no doubt for the nation; but such a peace as this is likely to be, gives no chance for naval men to distinguish themselves.  I must say that I consider you are fortunate indeed to have this opportunity of seeing some service under the man who, of all others, is distinguished for dash and bravery.  He is the Lord Peterborough of the present day.”

“Who was he, father?”

“He was a military man in the days of Queen Anne.  He performed extraordinary feats of bravery in Spain, and in many other respects his character bore a strong resemblance to that of Lord Cochrane.  Well, Stephen, we had better lose no time, and I propose that we go up to town again to-morrow morning.  No doubt he would like to see you, and there is nothing like settling the thing finally; and one interview is worth a dozen letters.  Let me see.”  Mr. Embleton consulted the sailing-list.  “As there is no boat sailing to-morrow, we will take the coach.  It would be better anyhow, for there is never any saying with certainty when the packets will arrive.  With a strong southerly wind they may do it in two tides, though it is only once in a hundred times that they manage it; still, even three tides would be very fair.  But we could not risk the chances, and it is a duty to let Lord Cochrane know as early as possible, as no doubt he has many applications, and would be glad to be able to say that the matter was finally settled.”

They arrived in town the next evening and called upon Lord Cochrane the first thing after breakfast next day.  On Mr. Embleton sending in his name he was at once admitted.

“I am heartily glad to see you, old friend,” Lord Cochrane said as he rose from the table, at which he was writing.  “So this is your boy!  His appearance saves me asking questions.  When did he get back?”

“He arrived in town on Monday evening, came down on Tuesday to Dover, and returned here with me last night.”

“You have indeed lost no time.  Well, young sir, what do you think of going out with me?”

“I should like it above everything, my lord, and I am deeply grateful to you for offering me the post.”

“It is to your father, lad, that you should be grateful, and not to me, for he earned it for you.  So you have had eighteen months in the eastern seas?”

“Yes, sir.”

“A very good school, I should say, Embleton; one has to keep one’s eyes open there.”

“Yes indeed.  He told me on the way up yesterday of an adventure he had had with the Malays, and as only three out of a boat-load of nine escaped, it must have been a pretty sharp business.”

“If only three escaped it must have been sharp indeed,” Lord Cochrane said, “and they must have had marvellous luck in getting out of the Malays’ hands.  He shall tell me all about it on our voyage out.  Now, come along with me.”

He led the way to the dining-room, where Lady Cochrane was sitting, while her two children, of four and five years old, were playing about.

“My dear,” he said, “this is Lieutenant Embleton, whom you have heard me speak of a score of times as a most gallant officer, and a most ill-used man.  This is his son, who is, you know, going out with us as my flag-midshipman; he has been eighteen months in the Indian Archipelago.  And let me tell you, the Malays are much more serious foes than the Spaniards.  You know, youngster, one of the chief duties of an admiral’s midshipman is to make himself agreeable to the admiral’s wife and family, if there are such incumbrances.  He goes errands for her, attends her when she goes shopping, is a sort of head nurse to the children, and in our service he is generally nicknamed the admiral’s poodle.  However, as soon as I get out there, I hope to find more attractive work for you, and until I do, I am sure my wife and the children will be glad they have someone with them to speak English.”

“I shall be very glad to be of any service I can,” Stephen said earnestly.

“I am afraid,” Lady Cochrane said with a smile, “that we shall have very little opportunity of availing ourselves of your services.  When we once get out there you will be carried off by Lord Cochrane, and he will never set foot on shore again unless when absolutely driven to it.”

“Is your time for sailing fixed yet, Lord Cochrane?” the lieutenant asked.

“We shall sail on the 15th of August from Boulogne, so that your son will have three weeks to make his preparations.”

“Three days would be sufficient,” Embleton said, with a smile.  “Naval outfitters are not so busy as they used to be, and would furnish an admiral’s kit, if necessary, in that time.  Is there any particular uniform, sir?”

“No, it is something like our own; and if you rig him out in an ordinary midshipman’s uniform that will be good enough.  Thank goodness, this weary waiting is over.  It is now fourteen months since I accepted the offer of the Chilian government sent me by their agent, Don Jose Alvarez.  I was to put off my departure so as to look after the building and equipment of a war steamer for the service, but there have been incessant delays owing to want of money.  It has been enough to madden one; and, after all, I have to go without her and we sail in the Rose.  She is one of the sloops sold out of the navy, and is now a merchantman.  I daresay they would have kept me dawdling about here for months to come if it hadn’t been that they have been getting the worst of it out there, and it at length occurred to them that the admiral’s place is in command of his fleet, and not to act as a sort of foreman in looking after a single ship being built.  We shall embark at Rye, but, of course, it will be more handy for you to send or bring him to Boulogne.  I expect that we shall be there on the 13th, so as to have time to shake down before we start.  Your son had better be there on that day.  I will draw up his commission as my flag-midshipman at once, and will hand it to you when you dine with me, which I trust you and your son will do this evening.  It is very fortunate that I am disengaged, for just at present I am going through a painful round of farewell dinners from my political friends.”

“I shall be very glad to do so, sir,” Mr. Embleton said, “and will not detain you farther now.”

As soon as they left Lord Cochrane they went to see Mr. Hewson.

“It is all arranged, I suppose?” the latter said as they entered.

“Yes, we have just left Lord Cochrane; but in the first place, Stephen, who is not much accustomed to return thanks, has asked me to say in his name how extremely obliged he is for your most kind offer to allow him to remain on the books of your fleet.”

“Say no more about it, Embleton.  I am very pleased that I can be of any service to you, and to the lad also.  Captain Pinder has spoken most warmly to me of his conduct during the voyage.  He behaved in all respects excellently; and although, happily, the captain was not laid up, and was therefore able to attend himself to the details of navigation, he says that had he been disabled he should have felt no uneasiness on that score, Stephen’s observations being to the full as accurate as his own.  He especially speaks of him in tones of commendation for his conduct in that unfortunate boat affair.  Every credit is due to the sailor Wilcox who was with him through it; but the latter himself told the captain that he felt so certain that all those in the boat had been killed, that he should not have undertaken the risk of going near the Malay village had it not been for the lad’s insisting.  He says, too, that although junior to Joyce-the lad they rescued-Stephen was really the leader; that many of his suggestions were most valuable.  Wilcox is particularly strong on the manner in which the lad contrived to kindle a fire by using his watch-glass filled with water as a burning-glass.  Altogether, I feel sure that your boy will make an excellent officer as he goes on, and I am glad that he will now have the opportunity of seeing some active service under Cochrane.

“I agree with what you said in your letter, that the berth is by no means likely to be a permanent one.  As soon as Cochrane has relieved them from the state in which they now are, they are sure to be jealous of him, and he is the last man in the world to put up with slights, or to hold on to an appointment when he sees that he is no longer wanted.  Still, it will do the lad a great deal of good and make a man of him, and his experience will put him outside the general category of mercantile sailors.  I have got his chests here; they were sent up yesterday.  I shall, of course, try and find out who was the captain of that ship whose chronometers he bought.  Captain Pinder has told me all about it, and Stephen is absolutely entitled to the money he got.  At the same time his offer to divide it was a generous one, but Captain Pinder and the mates are all dead against accepting it, and I agree with them.  The money would be a mere trifle all round, but it will be a comfortable little sum for him.  And it will, I am sure, be a satisfaction to him to be able to purchase his outfit now without trenching on your purse, especially as, going out as Cochrane’s own midshipman, he must take a much larger outfit than usual, as he will, of course, have to accompany the admiral on all public occasions.  Now, I suppose he will like to go down to the dock and say good-bye to them there.  The Tiger began unloading yesterday, and a good many of the hands will be paid off to-morrow.”

Captain Pinder and the first and third officers expressed their sincere regret that Stephen was not going to sail with them on the next voyage, and Joyce was greatly cut up about it.

“I wanted you to go down with me to stay with my father and mother near Oxford,” he said.  “I wrote to them from Gravesend and I had a letter this morning, in which they told me to make you promise to come down before we sailed again.”

“I may be back again in a year,” Stephen replied, “and if I am I think Mr. Hewson will appoint me to the Tiger again.”

The captain undertook to dispose of Stephen’s collection of curios and bird skins for him, and also, if no news was obtained as to the lost ship, he would, when he sailed again, hand the chronometers and quadrants over to Mr. Hewson to keep for him.

Mr. Hewson that evening again talked over the question of the bag of money with Lieutenant Embleton, and convinced the latter that Stephen was entitled to keep the money, to which his right was, he declared, unquestionable.  Stephen’s father was of the same opinion himself, and argued the question only because he felt that the fact that the money was really extremely useful at the present time, might render him unable to judge the matter fairly.  He really had no answer to the reasons given by his friend, who, he was well assured, would not urge the matter upon him did he not feel that Stephen was really entitled to keep the money, which had entirely and absolutely passed out of the possession of its former owners, whoever they were.

“I never heard,” he said, “that anyone who was lucky enough to recover treasure in an old wreck had his right to retain it questioned, and here not even the wreck remained.  So we will keep it and spend it, Hewson; but if you ever discover the owners of that ship let me know, and I shall be prepared to discuss the question with them.”

“We shall never discover them, my good sir,” Hewson said.  “How can any man in the world say that that money belongs to a ship that has disappeared in the Malay Archipelago?  The only possible clue is that afforded by the chronometers, and here again it is unlikely in the extreme that the owners of the ship, that has, perhaps, been sailing the seas for thirty or forty years, would be able to swear to her chronometers.  Lastly, there is no shadow of proof that the chest in which the money was found came from the same ship as the chronometers; they may be the proceeds of two different acts of piracy.  You will never hear anything about it.”