which, by-the-by, Skipper, belonged to that great house of Howland & Aspinwalls. They were right clever fellows, and it went into the general average account for the relief of the underwriters' big chest," continued the mate.

"We must have all hands ready at the call," said the Captain. "It looks dirty overhead, and I think we're going to catch it from the north-east to-night. If we do, our position is not as good as before. I don't feel afraid of her, if we only get clear of this infernal coast," said the Skipper, as he rolled up his chart, and repaired on deck again.

During this time, Manuel, who, had given the crew some very acceptable hot cakes for supper, was sitting upon the windlass, earnestly engaged, with his broken English, recounting an adventure he had on the coast of Patagonia, a few years previous, while serving on board a whaleman, to a shipmate who sat at his left. It was one of those incidents which frequently occur to the men attached to vessels which visit that coast for the purpose of providing a supply of wood and water, and which would require too much space to relate here.

"Did you run, Manuel?" said the listening shipmate.

"What else did me do? If I no run, I'd not be here dis night, because I be make slave, or I be killed wid club. Patagonian don't care for flag—nor not'in' else—I trust—e my leg, an' he get to de boat jus' when cap-i-tan come to rescue."

"Was you on board an Englishman then, Manuel?" inquired the shipmate.

"Yes, I'm always sail in English ship, because I can get protection from flag and consul, where I go—any part of globe," said he.

"I never liked this sailing among barbarous nations; they've no respect for any flag, and would just as lief imprison an Englishman or an American as they would a dog. They're a set of wild barbarians, and if they kill a fellow, there's no responsibility for it. It's like a parcel of wolves chasing a lamb, and there's no finding them after they've killed it. But they give a fellow his rights in Old England and the States. A man's a man there, rich or poor, and his feelings are just as much his own as anybody's. It's a glorious thing, this civilization, and if the world keeps on, there'll be no danger of a fellow's being imprisoned and killed among these savages. They're a cowardly set, for nobody but cowards are afraid of their own actions. Men neither imprison nor kill strangers, that don't fear the injustice of their own acts. You may smoke that in your pipe, Manuel, for I've heard great men say so. But you'd been done making dough-nuts then, Manuel, if they'd got hold o' you."

"Never catch Manuel among Patagonians, again; they not know what the flag be, nor they can't read de registrum ticket, if they know'd where England was," said Manuel; and just as he was concluding the story of his adventure, the little sailor-boy put his arm around Manuel's waist, and, laying his head on his breast, fondled about him with an affectionate attachment. The little fellow had been a shipmate with Manuel on several voyages, and, through the kindness he had received at his hands, naturally formed an ardent attachment to him. Taking advantage of the good treatment, he knew how to direct his attention to the steward whenever he wanted a snack from the cabin-locker of that which was not allowed in the forecastle. After holding him for a minute, encircling his arm around the little fellow's shoulder, he arose, and saying, "I know what you want, Tommy," proceeded to the cabin and brought him several little eatables that had been left at the captain's table.

The wind now began to veer and increase, her sails kept filling aback; and as often as the man at the helm kept her off, the wind would baffle him, until finding it would be necessary to go on the other tack, or make some change of course, he called the Captain. The moment the latter put his foot upon deck, he found his previous predictions were about to be verified. The rustling noise of the gulf, mingling its solemn sounds with the petrel-like music of that foreboding wind that "whistles through the shrouds," awakened the more superstitious sensations of a sailor's heart. The clouds had gathered their sombre folds into potent conclaves, while the sparkling brine in her wake, seemed like a fiery stream, rolling its troubled foam upon the dark waters.

"Brace the yards up sharp-hard a-starboard!—and trim aft the sheets," ordered the Captain, who had previously given the order, "All hands on deck!"

The order was scarcely executed, before the noise of the approaching gale was heard in the distance. All hands were ordered to shorten sail as quickly as possible; but before they could get aloft, it came upon them with such fury from E.N.E. as to carry away the foretop-mast and topgallant-mast, together with its sails, and the main-topgallant-mast with the sail. The foretop-mast, in going by the board, carried away the flying-jib-boom and flying-jibs. Thus the ill-fated Janson was doomed to another struggle for her floating existence. The sea began to rise and break in fearful power; the leak had already increased so, that two men were continually kept working the pumps. The crew, with commendable alacrity, cut away the wreck, which had been swaying to and fro, not only endangering the lives of those on board, but obstructing every attempt to get the vessel into any kind of working order. The main-sail had rent from the leash to the peak of the gaff, and was shaking into shreds. The starboard sheet of the maintop-sail was gone, and it had torn at the head from the bolt-rope, flying at every gust like the shreds of a muslin rag in a hail-storm. Without the government of her helm, she lay in the trough of the sea more like a log than a manageable mass. Sea after sea broke over her, carrying every thing before them at each pass. The officers and crew had now as much as they could do to retain their holds, without making any effort to save the wreck, while the men at the pumps could only work at each subsiding of the sea, and that under the disadvantage of being lashed to the frame. A more perilous position than that in which the old brig Janson now lay, it was impossible to imagine.

"'Tis the worst hurricane I've ever experienced upon the West India coast, Captain, but it's too furious to last long; and if she don't go to pieces before morning, I'll give her credit for what I've always swore against her. She can't keep afloat though, if it hangs on another hour in this way," said the mate, who, with the Captain and Manuel, had just made an ineffectual attempt to rig a storm stay-sail, to try and lay her to under it. For the mate swore by his knowledge of her qualities, that to put her before it, would be certain foundering. The gale continued with unabated fury for about two hours, and stopped about as suddenly as it commenced. The work of destruction was complete, for from her water-line to the stump of the remaining spars, the Janson floated a complete wreck.

The captain gave orders to clear away the wreck, and get what little sail they could patch up, upon her, for the purpose of working her into the nearest port. The mate was not inclined to further the order, evidently laboring under the strong presentiment that she was to be their coffin. He advised that it was fruitless to stick by her any longer, or hazard an attempt to reach a port with her, in such a leaky and disabled condition. "If we don't abandon her, Skipper," said he, "she'll abandon us. We'd better make signal for the first vessel, and bid the old coffin good-by."

The captain was more determined in his resolution, and instead of being influenced by the mate's fears, continued his order, and the men went to work with a cheerful willingness. None seemed more anxious to lend a ready hand than Manuel, for in addition to is duties as steward, he had worked at sail-making, and both worked at and directed the repairing of the sails. Those acquainted with maritime affairs can readily appreciate the amount of labor necessary to provide a mess with the means at hand that we