One morning, a few days after the storm described in the last chapter, Rollo was sitting upon one of the settees that stood around the skylight on the promenade deck, secured to their places by lashings of spun yarn, as has already been described, and was there listening to a conversation which was going on between two gentlemen that were seated on the next settee.  The morning was very pleasant.  The sun was shining, the air was soft and balmy, and the surface of the water was smooth.  There was so little wind that the sails were all furled ­for, in the case of a steamer at sea, the wind, even if it is fair, cannot help to impel the ship at all, unless it moves faster than the rate which the paddle wheels would of themselves carry her; and if it moves slower than this, of course, the steamer would by her own progress outstrip it, and the sails, if they were spread, would only be pressed back against the masts by the onward progress of the vessel, and thus her motion would only be retarded by them.

The steamer, on the day of which we are speaking, was going on very smoothly and rapidly by the power of her engines alone, and all the passengers were in excellent spirits.  There was quite a company of them assembled at a place near one of the paddle boxes where smoking was allowed.  Some were seated upon a settee that was placed there against the side of the paddle box, and others were standing around them.  They were nearly all smoking, and, as they smoked, they were talking and laughing very merrily.  Hilbert was among them, and he seemed to be listening very eagerly to what they were saying.  Rollo was very strongly inclined to go out there, too, to hear what the men were talking about; but he was so much interested in what the gentlemen were saying who were near him, that he concluded to wait till they had finished their conversation, and then go.

The gentlemen who were near him were talking about the rockets ­the same rockets that Rollo had seen when he went back to the stern of the ship to look out at the sea, on the day of the storm.  One of the men, who had often been at sea before, and who seemed to be well acquainted with all nautical affairs, said that the rockets were used to throw lines from one ship to another, or from a ship to the shore, in case of wrecks or storms.  He said that sometimes at sea a steamer came across a wrecked vessel, or one that was disabled, while yet there were some seamen or passengers still alive on board.  These men would generally be seen clinging to the decks, or lashed to the rigging.  In such cases the sea was often in so frightful a commotion that no boat could live in it; and there was consequently no way to get the unfortunate mariners off their vessel but by throwing a line across, and then drawing them over in some way or other along the line.  He said that the sailors had a way of making a sort of sling, by which a man could be suspended under such a line with loops or rings, made of rope, and so adjusted that they would run along upon it; and that by this means men could be drawn across from one ship to another, at sea, if there was only a line stretched across for the rings to run upon.

Now, the rockets were used for the purpose of throwing such a line.  A small light line was attached to the stick of the rocket, and then the rocket itself was fired, being pointed in such a manner as to go directly over the wrecked ship.  If it was aimed correctly, it would fall down so as to carry the small line across the ship.  Then the sailors on board the wrecked vessel would seize it, and by means of it would draw the end of a strong line over, and thus effect the means of making their escape.  It was, however, a very dreadful alternative, after all; for the rope forming this fearful bridge would of course be subject all the time to the most violent jerkings, from the rolling and pitching of the vessels to which the two extremities of it were attached, and the unhappy men who had to be drawn over by means of it would be perhaps repeatedly struck and overwhelmed by the foaming surges on the way.

While Rollo was listening to this conversation, Hilbert’s father and another gentleman who had been walking with him up and down the deck came and sat down on one of the settees.  Very soon, Hilbert, seeing his father sitting there, came eagerly to him, and said, holding out his hand, ­

“Father, I want you to give me half a sovereign.”

“Half a sovereign!” repeated his father; “what do you want of half a sovereign?”

A sovereign is the common gold coin of England.  The value of it is a pound, or nearly five dollars; and half a sovereign is, of course, in value about equal to two dollars and a half of American money.

“I want to get a ticket,” said Hilbert.  “Come, father, make haste,” he added, with many impatient looks and gestures, and still holding out his hand.

“A ticket? what ticket?” asked his father.  As he asked these questions, he put his hand in his pocket and drew out an elegant little purse.

“Why, they are going to have a lottery about the ship’s run, to-day,” replied Hilbert, “and I want a ticket.  The tickets are half a sovereign apiece, and the one who gets the right one will have all the half sovereigns.  There will be twenty of them, and that will make ten pounds.”

“Nearly fifty dollars,” said his father; “and what can you do with all that money, if you get it?  O, no, Hibby; I can’t let you have any money for that.  And besides, these lotteries, and the betting about the run of the ship, are as bad as gambling.  They are gambling, in fact.”

“Why, father,” said Hilbert, “you bet, very often.”

Mr. Livingston, for that was his father’s name, and his companion, the gentleman who was sitting with him, laughed at hearing this; and the gentleman said, ­

“Ah, George, he has you there.”

Even Hilbert looked pleased at the effect which his rejoinder had produced.  In fact, he considered his half sovereign as already gained.

“O, let him have the half sovereign,” continued the gentleman.  “He’ll find some way to spend the ten pounds, if he gets them, I’ll guaranty.”

So Mr. Livingston gave Hilbert the half sovereign, and he, receiving it with great delight, ran away.

The plan of the lottery, which the men at the paddle box were arranging, was this.  In order, however, that the reader may understand it perfectly, it is necessary to make a little preliminary explanation in respect to the mode of keeping what is called the reckoning of ships and steamers at sea.  When a vessel leaves the shore at New York, and loses sight of the Highlands of Neversink, which is the land that remains longest in view, the mariners that guide her have then more than two thousand miles to go, across a stormy and trackless ocean, with nothing whatever but the sun and stars, and their own calculations of their motion, to guide them.  Now, unless at the end of the voyage they should come out precisely right at the lighthouse or at the harbor which they aim at, they might get into great difficulty or danger.  They might run upon rocks where they expected a port, or come upon some strange and unknown land, and be entirely unable to determine which way to turn in order to find their destined haven.

The navigators could, however, manage this all very well, provided they could be sure of seeing the sun every day at proper times, particularly at noon.  The sun passes through different portions of the sky every different day of the year, rising to a higher point at noon in the summer, and to a lower one in the winter.  The place of the sun, too, in the sky, is different according as the observer is more to the northward or southward.  For inasmuch as the sun, to the inhabitants of northern latitudes, always passes through the southern part of the sky, if one person stands at a place one hundred or five hundred miles to the southward of another, the sun will, of course, appear to be much higher over his head to the former than to the latter.  The farther north, therefore, a ship is at sea, the lower in the sky, that is, the farther down toward the south, the sun will be at noon.

Navigators, then, at sea, always go out upon the deck at noon, if the sun is out, with a very curious and complicated instrument, called a sextant, in their hands; and with this instrument they measure exactly the distance from the sun at noon down to the southern horizon.  This is called making an observation.  When the observation is made, the captain takes the number of degrees and minutes, and goes into his state room; and there, by the help of certain tables contained in books which he always keeps there for the purpose, he makes a calculation, and finds out the exact latitude of the ship; that is, where she is, in respect to north and south.  There are other observations and calculations by which he determines the longitude; that is, where the ship is in respect to east and west.  When both these are determined, he can find the precise place on the chart where the vessel is, and so ­inasmuch as he had ascertained by the same means where she was the day before ­he can easily calculate how far she has come during the twenty-four hours between one noon and another.  These calculations are always made at noon, because that is the time for making the observations on the sun.  It takes about an hour to make the calculations.  The passengers on board the ship during this interval are generally full of interest and curiosity to know the result.  They come out from their lunch at half past twelve, and then they wait the remaining half hour with great impatience.  They are eager to know how far they have advanced on their voyage since noon of the day before.

In order to let the passengers know the result, when it is determined, the captain puts up a written notice, thus: ­

Latitude, 44 deg. 26’. 
Longitude, 16 deg. 31’. 
Distance, 270.

The passengers, on seeing this notice, which is called a bulletin, know at once, from the first two items, whereabouts on the ocean they are; and from the last they learn that the distance which the ship has come since the day before is 270 miles.

This plan of finding out the ship’s place every day, and of ascertaining the distance which she has sailed since the day before, would be perfectly successful, and amply sufficient for all the purposes required, if the sun could always be seen when the hour arrived for making the observation; but this is not the fact.  The sky is often obscured by clouds for many days in succession; and, in fact, it sometimes happens that the captain has scarcely an opportunity to get a good observation during the whole voyage.  There is, therefore, another way by which the navigator can determine where the ship is, and how fast she gets along on her voyage.

This second method consists of actually measuring the progress of the ship through the water, by an instrument called the log and line.  The log ­which, however, is not any log at all, but only a small piece of board, loaded at one edge so as to float upright in the water ­has a long line attached to it, which line is wound upon a light windlass called a reel.  The line, except a small portion of it at the beginning is marked off into lengths by small knots made in it at regular intervals.  There are little rags of different forms and colors tied into these knots, so that they may easily be seen, and may also be distinguished one from the other.

When the time comes for performing the operation of heaving the log, as they call it, the men appointed for the purpose bring the log and the reel to the stern of the ship.  One man holds the log, and another man the reel.  There are two handles, one at each end of the reel, by which the man who serves it can hold it up over his head, and let the line run off from it.  Besides the two men who hold the log and the reel, there is a third, who has a minute glass in his hand.  The minute glass is like an hour glass, only there is but just sand enough in it to run a minute.  The man who has the minute glass holds it upon its side at first, so as not to set the sand to running until all is ready.

At length the man who holds the log throws it over into the water, and the ship, sailing onward all the time, leaves it there, floating edge upwards.  The man who holds the reel lifts it up high, so that the line can run off easily as the ship moves on.  As soon as the first rag runs off, which denotes the beginning of the marked point of the line, he calls out suddenly, ­

“Turn!”

This is the command to the man who holds the minute glass to turn it so as to set the sand to running.  He accordingly instantly changes the position of the glass, and holds it perpendicularly, and immediately sets himself to watching the running out of the sand.  The instant it is gone, he calls out, ­

“Stop!”

The man who is holding the reel, and another who stands by ready to help him, instantly stop the line, and begin to draw it in.  They observe how many knots have run out, and they know from this how many miles an hour the ship is going.  Each knot goes for a mile.

They do not have to count the knots that have run out.  They can always determine, by the form and color of the last one that passed, what knot it is.  One of the men goes immediately and reports to the captain that the ship is going so many knots, and the captain makes a record of it.  The other men at once begin to draw in the line, which brings the log in also at the end of it.  This line comes in very hard, for the friction of so long a cord, dragged so swiftly through the water, is very great.  It generally takes four or five men to pull the line in.  These men walk along the deck, one behind the other, with the line over their shoulders; and at first they have to tug very hard.  The reel man winds the line upon the reel as fast as they draw it in.  It comes in more and more easily as the part that is in the water grows shorter; and at length the log itself is soon skipping through the foam in the wake of the ship, until it comes up out of the water and is taken on board.

They heave the log every two hours, ­that is, twelve times for every twenty-four hours, ­and from the reports which the captain receives of the results of those trials, it is easy for him to calculate how far the ship has come during the whole period.  As he knows, too, exactly how far the pilot has been steering by the compass all this time, he has both the direction in which the ship has been sailing, and the distance to which she has come; and, of course, from these data he can calculate where she must now be.  This mode of determining the ship’s place is called by the reckoning.  The other is called by observation.

The intelligent and reflecting boy who has carefully read and understood the preceding explanations will perceive that the two operations which we have been describing are in some sense the reverse of each other.  By the former, the navigator ascertains by his measurements where the ship actually is to-day, and then calculates from that how far, and in what direction, she has come since yesterday.  Whereas, by the latter method, his measurements determine directly how far, and in what direction, the ship has come; and then he calculates from these where she now is.  Each method has its advantages.  The former, that by observation, is the most sure and exact; but then it is not always practicable, for it may be cloudy.  On the other hand, the latter ­that is, by the reckoning ­never fails, for the log can always be thrown, be the weather what it may; but it cannot be fully relied upon, on account of the currents in the water and the drifting of the vessel.  Consequently, on board all ships they keep the reckoning regularly every day.  Then, if they get a good observation, they rely upon that.  If they do not, they go by the reckoning.

We now return to the story.  And here, I suppose, is the place where those sagacious children, who, when they are reading a book in which entertainment and instruction are combined, always skip all the instruction, and read only the story, will begin to read again, after having turned over the leaves of this chapter thus far, seeing they contain only explanations of the mode of navigating a ship, and saying nothing about Hilbert and Rollo.  Now, before going any farther, I wish to warn all such readers, that they will not be able to comprehend at all clearly the complicated difficulties which Hilbert and the others got into in respect to the lottery without understanding all that has been explained in the preceding pages of this chapter.  I advise them, therefore, if they have skipped any of it, to go back and read it all, and to read it slowly too, and with the utmost attention.  And I advise them, moreover, if they do not perfectly understand it all, to ask some older person to read it over with them and explain it to them.  If they are not willing to do this, but insist on skipping the first part of the chapter, I advise them to make complete work of it, and skip the last half too; for they certainly will not understand it.

When Hilbert went back to the paddle box with his half sovereign, it was about eleven o’clock.  The observation was to be made at twelve; and the results, both in respect to the observation and the reckoning, were to be calculated immediately afterward.  The lottery which the men were making related to the number of miles which the ship would have made during the twenty-four hours.  The men were just making up the list of subscribers to the tickets when Hilbert went up to them.  He gave his half sovereign to the man who had the list.  This man whom they called the Colonel, took the money, saying, “That’s right, my lad,” and put it in a little leather purse with the other half sovereigns.

“What’s your name, Bob?” said he.

“Livingston,” said Hilbert.

“Bobby Livingston,” said the Colonel, writing down the name on his list.

“No,” said Hilbert, contemptuously, “not Bobby Livingston.  Hilbert Livingston.”

“O, never mind,” said the Colonel; “it’s all the same thing.  Bobby means boy.”

The plan of the lottery was this:  It was generally supposed that the ship’s run would be about 270 miles; and it was considered quite certain, as has already been stated, that it would not be more than 280, nor less than 260.  So they made twenty tickets, by cutting five of the Colonel’s visiting cards into quarters, which tickets were to represent all the numbers from 261 to 280, inclusive.  They wrote the numbers upon these cards, omitting, however, the first figure, namely, the 2, in order to save time; for as that figure came in all the numbers, it was considered unnecessary to write it.  When the numbers were written thus upon the cards, the cards themselves were all put into a cap and shaken up, and then every one who had paid a half sovereign drew out one, the colonel holding the hat up high all the time, so that no one could see which number he drew.  This operation was performed in the midst of jokes and gibes and loud shouts of laughter, which made the whole scene a very merry one.  When Hilbert came to draw, the merriment was redoubled.  Some called on the Colonel to hold down the cap lower, so that Bob could reach it.  Others said that he was sure to get the lucky number, and that there was no chance at all for the rest of them.  Others, still, were asking him what he would take for his ticket, or for half of it, quarter of it, and so on.  Hilbert was half pleased and half ashamed at being the object of so much coarse notoriety; while Rollo, who had drawn up toward the place, and was looking on from a safe distance as the proceedings that were going on, was very glad that he was not in Hilbert’s place.

The ticket that Hilbert drew was marked 67.  It denoted, of course, the number 267; and that, being pretty near to the number of miles which it was thought the ship would probably make, was considered quite a valuable ticket.  The owners of the several tickets, as soon as the drawing was completed, began to compare them and talk about them, and to propose bargains to one another for buying and selling them, or exchanging them.  In these negotiations each man was endeavoring to outwit and circumvent his friend, in hopes of buying his ticket for a moderate sum, and drawing the whole prize with it.  Others were engaged in betting on particular tickets.  These bets, when they were made, they recorded in little memorandum books kept for the purpose.  In fact, a very noisy and tumultuous scene of bargaining, and betting, and barter ensued.

Hilbert was very much pleased with his ticket.  He went to show it to Rollo.  He said he verily believed that he had got the exact ticket to draw the prize.  He did not think the ship would go quite 270 miles.

“And if she does not,” said he, “and should happen to go only 267 miles, then I shall have ten pounds; and that is almost fifty dollars.”

So saying, Hilbert began to caper about the deck in the exuberance of his joy.

His antics were, however, suddenly interrupted by the Colonel, who just then came up to him and asked to see his ticket.  Hilbert held it up so that the Colonel could see the number upon it.

“Sixty-seven,” said the Colonel.  “That is not worth much.  Nobody thinks she’ll go less than 270.  However,” he added, in a careless tone, “I’ll give you twelve shillings for it.  That is two shillings over what you paid for it ­nearly half a dollar. You’d better make sure of half a dollar than run the risk of losing every thing on such a poor ticket as that.”

“Would you?” said Hilbert, turning to Rollo.

“I don’t know,” replied Rollo, shaking his head.  “I don’t know any thing about it.”

“No,” said Hilbert, turning to the Colonel again; “I believe I will keep my ticket, and take my chance.”

The Colonel said, “Very well; just as you please;” and then went away.  Hilbert had, after this, several other offers, all which he declined; and in about a quarter of an hour the Colonel met him again, as if accidentally, and began to talk about his ticket.  He said that all the tickets under 270 were selling at a low price, as almost every body believed that the ship’s run would be more than that; but still, he said, he would give a pound for Hilbert’s ticket, if he wished to sell it.  “Thus,” said he, “you’ll get back the half sovereign you paid, and another half sovereign besides, and make sure of it.”

But the more the people seemed to wish to buy Hilbert’s ticket, the less inclined he was to part with it.  So he refused the Colonel’s offer, and put the card safely away in his wallet.  In one sense he was right in refusing to sell his chance; for as the whole business of making such a lottery, and buying and selling the tickets afterward, and betting on the result, is wrong, the less one does about it the better.  Every new transaction arising of it is a new sin.  It could easily be shown, by reasoning on the philosophy of the thing, why it is wrong, if there were time and space for it here.  But this is not necessary, as every man has a feeling in his own conscience that there is a wrong in such transactions.  It is only bad characters, in general, that seek such amusements.  When others adventure in them a little, they make apologies for it.  They say they are not in the habit of betting, or of venturing in lotteries, or that they don’t approve of it ­but will do it this once.  Then, when people lose their money, the chagrin which they feel is always deepened and imbittered by remorse and self-condemnation; while the pleasure which those feel who gain is greatly marred by a sort of guilty feeling, which they cannot shake off, at having taken the money of their friends and companions by such means.  All these indications, and many others which might be pointed out, show that there is a deep-seated and permanent instinct in the human heart which condemns such things; and nobody can engage in them without doing violence to this instinct, and thus committing a known wrong.

In regard to most of the men who were engaged in the lottery, they had so often done such things before that their consciences had become pretty well seared and hardened.  There was one man, however, who decided to take a ticket against considerable opposition that was made to it by the moral sentiments of his heart.  This was Maria’s brother.  He had been confined to his berth most of the voyage, but was now better; and he had been walking up and down the deck with a friend.  He looked pale and dejected, however, and seemed still quite feeble.

His friend, whom he called Charles, seeing that they were going on with a lottery near the paddle boxes, proposed that they should both go and buy tickets.

“Come,” said he, “Chauncy, that will amuse you.”

“O, no,” said Mr. Chauncy.

“Yes, come,” said Charles.  “Besides, we ought to do our part to assist in entertaining one another.”

So saying, Charles led Mr. Chauncy along, and partly by persuasion, and partly by a little gentle force, he made him take out his purse and produce a half sovereign, too.  He also subscribed himself, and then drew both the tickets.  He gave one of them to Mr. Chauncy, and the other he kept himself; and then the two friends walked away.  Mr. Chauncy’s ticket was 66, the number immediately below that which Hilbert had drawn.

Mr. Chauncy, being now tired of walking, went to sit down upon one of the settees next to where Hilbert and Rollo had just gone to take a seat.  Mr. Chauncy was next to Hilbert.  He immediately began to talk with Hilbert about the lottery.

“Have you got a ticket in this lottery?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Hilbert; “mine is 267.  What is yours?”

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Chauncy; “I did not observe.”  As he said this, however, he took his ticket out of his pocket, and said, reading it, “Ninety-nine.”

He was holding it wrong side upward, and so it read 99.

“Ho!” said Hilbert, “that will not get the prize.  We shall not go 299 miles.  I would not exchange mine for yours on any account.”

“No,” said Mr. Chauncy, “nor would I exchange mine for yours.”

“Why?” said Hilbert.  “Do you think there is any chance of the ship’s making 299?”

“No,” replied Mr. Chauncy; “and that is the very reason I like my ticket.  If I had yours, I should be afraid I might get the prize.”

“Afraid?” repeated Hilbert.

“Yes,” said Mr. Chauncy.

“Why should you be afraid?” asked Hilbert, much surprised.

“Because,” said Mr. Chauncy, “I should not know what to do with the money.  I would not put it in my purse; for I don’t let any thing go in there but honest money.  I don’t know who I could give it to.  Besides, I should not like to ask any body to take what I should be ashamed to keep myself.  I should really be in a very awkward situation.”

As he said this, Mr. Chauncy held his ticket between his thumb and finger, and looked at the number.  Neither he nor Hilbert suspected for a moment that there was any mistake in reading it; for, not having paid any attention to the scheme, as it is called, of the lottery, they did not know how high the numbers went.

“There is a possibility that I may get it, after all,” said Mr. Chauncy at length, musing.  “We have had fine weather, and have been coming on fast.  The best thing for me to do is to get rid of the ticket.  Have you got a ticket, Rollo?” said he, turning to Rollo.

“No, sir,” said Rollo.

“I have a great mind to give it to you, then.”

“No, sir,” said Rollo; “I would rather not have it.”

“That is right,” said Mr. Chauncy.  “I like you the better for that.  I know what I will do with it.  Do you remember an Irishwoman that you see sitting on the forward deck sometimes with her two children?”

“Yes,” said Rollo; “she is there now.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Chauncy; “carry this to her, and tell her it is a ticket in a lottery, and it may possibly draw a prize.  Have you any conscientious scruples about doing that?”

“No, sir,” said Rollo.

“Then take the ticket and go,” added Mr. Chauncy.  “Tell her she had better sell the ticket for two shillings, if she gets a chance.  There may be somebody among the gamblers that will buy it.”

So Rollo took the ticket and carried it to the Irishwoman.  She was a woman who was returning to Ireland as a deck passenger.  She was quite poor.  When Rollo tendered her the ticket, she was, at first, much surprised.  Rollo explained the case fully to her, and concluded by repeating Mr. Chauncy’s advice ­that she should sell the ticket, if she could get a chance to sell it for as much as two shillings.  The woman, having been at sea before, understood something about such lotteries, and seemed to be quite pleased to get a ticket.  She asked Rollo to tell such gentlemen as he might meet that she had 99 to sell for two shillings.  This, however, Rollo did not like to do; and so he simply returned to the settee and reported to Mr. Chauncy that he had given the woman the ticket and delivered the message.

Mr. Chauncy said he was very much obliged to him; and then, rising from his seat, he walked slowly away, and descended into the cabin.