intelligence by no means inferior to the young gentlemen who regarded the class of vessel they served aboard of as a stamp of their own superiority. They were indeed a species of that terrible creature who apes nobility because he lives in a mansion. Occasionally the collier lads resented the lofty airs of the southern-going gentry, until open hostility ensued and much blood was spilt. But pugilistic encounters were conducted on strictly professional lines, and no ill-will was supposed to exist on the part of the combatants after they were over. That was the rule laid down, and a breach of it brought disgrace on the violator and his coadjutors, who were thereupon ostracised from the party to which they belonged. The necessity for enforcing the penalty rarely occurred, not only because of its severity, but because it involved loss of honour.

A disagreement as to valour and prowess and seamanship had arisen between some sailor lads who belonged to the two different sections. They decided that their differences could only be settled by being fought out on neutral ground. This was solemnly chosen, a ring formed, seconds appointed, and the contest began. In half-an-hour victory was decided in favour of the collier boy, though with all the fulness of sailor generosity his opponent received an ungrudging share of the ovation that was given to the champion. Both, however, showed evidences of rough usage: the only visible difference being that one had two eyes badly damaged while the victor had but one. After it was over they shook hands, swore allegiance to each other, walked back to their respective vessels, had raw beef applied to the eyes that were discoloured, tumbled into their hammocks and fell fast asleep. Meanwhile a general meeting of apprentice lads from all the vessels in port was mustered, so that the result of the dispute should be publicly proclaimed; and in order that the occasion should be suitably celebrated, it was suggested and approved by loud acclamation that whereas there was every chance of the morrow being a sailing day, when the little port would be emptied of all its shipping, it might be that the parting would represent years, and perchance many of them would never meet on earth again. The latter clause was announced with marked solemnity. The orator proceeded to state that there had been enmities, jealousies, perhaps unworthy statements made about the inferiority of the collier boy, but the question had been settled by a brilliant exhibition of physical science; both sides were well represented, and both had shown that they were worthy champions of the noble art.

"Let me ask you then to call upon them both to join with us in becoming friends, and in having on the last night in port a ripping jollification. I propose," said the peacemaker, "that we have some chanties, and that we start these aboard the vessel I belong to by hoisting the topsail yards up."

The two heroes were roused, and cheerfully joined in what resolved itself into a carnival of reckless mischief. The brains of the whole company were excited, and they revelled in every form of scampishness. The leaders gave orders as to the vessels that were to be visited and have their yards crossed and their rig in other ways disfigured. This being done, the spokesman informed them that they had spent a very jolly night, and after hoisting the Silverspray's topsails to the mast head and furling the sails again, they were to disperse quietly and go each to his own ship. The sails were loosened, a chanty man was selected from among the southern-going seamen, and amid a chorus of sweet song the yards were leisurely mast-headed. The music of many voices had attracted a few people to the quay. A shout was raised that the captain of the vessel was coming. The halyards dropped from each one's hand, and a general scramble resembling a panic ensued. Down came the main topsail yard with a run, and broke in halves as soon as the sudden jerk came on the lifts. In almost as little time as it takes to write it, there was none of the revellers to be seen.

After the novelty has worn off, there is never any particular desire to put to sea on the part of youngsters; but on this occasion the anxiety to get out of the harbour was very marked. Many of the vessels got away before the damage done to the Silverspray's yard and sail became generally known. The captain did not know that anything of the sort had happened until he came down to take the vessel to sea, and being a commonsense sort of man, instead of joining in the chorus of screaming, as his owner was doing, he adjured him to cease wasting time in declaiming against those who had done the mischief.

"We must set to work," said he, "and have the damage repaired; that is more important than theorising as to who did it."

By the time the repairs were set in full swing, nearly the whole of the culprits had passed over the bar aboard their respective ships into the booming waves of the German Ocean. Many of them were destined never to reach their destination, and many never more to see the paradise that had given them so many ineffable days and nights. Sad hearts were grieving over the sudden parting from those who were loved because they were lovable. They seemed to be musing thoughts of poetry.

The Silverspray's repairs were completed in two days, and she and another vessel, that had been detained owing to her pump gear not being ready, were towed out of the harbour in the face of a strong easterly wind and a lowering glass. The portly, ruddy appearance and pronounced lurch or roll of Captain Thomas Arlington left no doubt as to his calling. He spoke with an assumed accent which resembled the amalgamation of several dialects. He was usually called Tom by his intimate friends, but mere acquaintances were not permitted to address him in any such familiar fashion. In his younger days he gained notoriety for having made several voyages to the West Indies, the Brazils and Constantinople, and he was therefore looked upon as a far-sailed and much-learned person. Owners vied with each other in sounding his praises and competing for his services. They looked upon him as a captain of the first rank, both in seamanship and education. There was no question about the former: the latter consisted in his being able to read and write a legible hand, which was a rare accomplishment in those days. He had saved a little money, and was allowed as a special favour to invest to the extent of eight sixty-fourth shares in the vessel he commanded. He never lost an opportunity of making his less fortunate compatriots feel that he was immeasurably their superior. Many of them who commanded the same class of vessel were so impressed with his influence over the owners that they looked upon his friendship as being of some value. Being part owner, his privileges were wide; in fact he was admitted within the owner circle, and contributed to the wisdom thereof in many eccentric ways.

The two little brigs were bound to the Baltic, and the first day out a heavy press of canvas was carried in order to get a good offing, lest the wind and sea should make and catch them tight on a lee shore. After they had been out twenty-four hours they both tacked off Flamborough Head, bearing west twenty miles, and stood to the N.E. The Silverspray passed close under the stern of the Francis Blake. The captains saluted each other as was the custom. The Blake's captain shouted that his vessel was making a lot of water. The other responded: "We are making some too, and we shall have more wind and sea before there is less." This was about ten on a February morning. Their sailing qualities were pretty much on a par, so that they were kept in company all through the day. The wind had shifted from E.S.E. to S.E., and they headed E.N.E. with about two and a half points leeway, making the true course, after the toss of the sea had been allowed, about N.E. So long as daylight remained no canvas was taken in, though both of them were sometimes plunging their jibbooms under, and their bows almost