"And ye did?"

"I did. They had their fingers at me throat, Murphy. So I drank. I git this for tryin' to help you out in your schemes, John Murphy."

"And I git this for not watchin' you, Tim Hennesey. Gwan aft; the old man 'll make ye a bosun like me; then come forrard and git yerself a brick agin' the time whin they wake up. Our lives are in danger whin they find out they've got to wark a wind-jammer across to the old sod. We'll settle our private account later on."

Murphy accompanied Hennesey aft and listened to his explanations to Captain Williams. They were glib and apologetic.

"I didn't know," he said, "that they weren't sailormin. And they were the only min in port, and Murphy had 'em; so I shipped 'em."

"Exactly," answered the captain, coldly; "and they shipped you. You two fellows are caught in the plant you prepared for me, and you've got to stand for it. Ever been to sea, Hennesey?"

"Tin years, Captain. I'm an able seaman, though not a heavy man."

"Heavy enough. Get a brick out of the galley, and I'll make you a bosun without pay. You two will make those tarriers work. Come aft to the wheel, the pair of you. Mr. Baker"—this to the man coiling ropes, who dropped his task and followed—"Mr. Baker," said the captain, "and Mr. Sharp"—he turned to the man at the wheel—"these two men have some influence over the crew, and I've made them acting bosuns. They've been to sea, and their part is to loose canvas and put ropes into the hands of the others. Your part is to see that they do it."

The two officers turned their swollen faces toward Murphy and Hennesey, and inspected them through closed and blackened eyelids. Then they nodded, and the introduction was complete.

"Come, Hennesey," said Murphy, briskly, now that the situation was defined. "We'll be gettin' a brick for ye, and wan each for the skipper and the mates. We'll need 'em. Thin we'll go through 'em for the dope, and then we'll loose the canvas."

For this short run across the Atlantic Captain Williams had shipped neither carpenter, sailmaker, nor boatswains, he and his two mates, a weakling steward and the Chinese cook representing the afterguard until the advent of Murphy and Hennesey. To properly equip this afterguard, Murphy pried out six more bricks from under the galley stove, solemnly distributed them with instructions as to their use, and then he and Hennesey replevined the half-empty bottles from the sleepers, an easy task for such skilled craftsmen.

About noon the twenty-four awakened and clamored for their dinner. It was served, and as it contained meat in plenty it was satisfactory; then, smoking their clay pipes, they mustered on deck and, more or less unconsciously, divided into two parts, the Galways separate from the Limericks.

"Loose the foretopsail, Hennesey," said Murphy, as he looked at them. "Overhaul the gear and stop it so ye can come down. Thin take the halyards to the fo'c'stle capstan. I'll take the main."

The first mate was content to remain out of the proceedings for the present. Murphy and Hennesey went aloft, performed their part, and came down; then, when the two falls of the halyards were led to the two capstans, Murphy, with his hand in his pocket and his heart in his mouth, went among them.

"I want," he said, sourly, "twilve good min, but I don't know that I can git them. Ye're a lot o' bog-trotters that don't know enough to heave on a capstan."

"The hill we don't!" uttered a Galway man close to him.

"We l'arned thot in Checa-a-go."

"Ye mane," said Murphy, "that the Limerick boys tried to l'arn, but they couldn't. The wark's too hard."

"Fwat's too ha-a-rd?" answered the Galway. "Ye domned murderer, fwat's too hard? D'y' think we can't wurruk?"

"D'ye think ye can wark?" said Murphy. "Thin git at that capstan, you Galway min. And git busy, quick, or I'll give the job to the Limerick boys. They're passably good min, I think."

"To hill wi' thim! Hurrah, here, b'ys. C'm'an and pull the mon's rope. Who says we can't wurruk?"

They joyously and enthusiastically surrounded the forecastle capstan, shipped the brakes, and began to heave, with black looks at the envious Limericks, to whom Murphy now addressed himself.

"Are yez lookin' for wark?" he demanded.

"Yis," they chorused.

"Man that 'midship capstan, thin. Beat these Galway sogers and I'll give ye wark right along."

With whoops and shouts they flocked to the capstan amidships, and began to compete, shoving on the bars, cheering and encouraging each other and deriding those on the forecastle deck, who responded. It was a tie; the Galways had about a minute start, but the Limericks finished only a minute behind. Murphy and Hennesey nippered the falls at the pinrail, and belayed when they slacked.

"It goes, Hennesey," said Murphy, wiping the perspiration from his brow. "By puttin' wan gang agin' the other, maybe we won't need to show the bricks."

"Yes," replied Hennesey, "that's all right; but I oncet heard an old, wise skipper say that any farmer can make sail, but it takes a sailor to take it in. What'll we do if it comes on to blow?"

"That's the least o' your troubles, and mine, Tim Hennesey. Put yer trust in Jasus and loose that mizzentopsail, while I get 'em to steady the braces."

But the demoralized first mate had so far aroused himself as to attend to the loosing of the mizzentopsail and topgallantsail; so Murphy with a little cajolery and ridicule induced the crew to sheet home and tauten the braces, then mustered them aft to the mizzentopsail halyards and asked them if they could, the whole lazy two dozen of them, masthead that yard by hand, without the aid of the capstan. They noisily averred that they could, and they did, nearly parting the halyards when the yard could go no higher. The chain-sheets they could not break, hard as they tried.

"It's not according to seamanship, Hennesey," said Murphy, "to man yer halyards before ye sheet home; but—any way at all with this bunch. Now git up to the foreto'gallant and the royal, while I take the main. The poor mate's done his stunt on the mizzen."

And so, by doing the seamanly work themselves and putting ropes into the hands of the crew, the mate and the two boatswains got sail on the ship, even to the jib-topsail and the mainroyal staysail. Captain Williams discreetly remained in the background, only asserting himself once, when he knocked an Irishman off the poop. For this indiscretion he was menaced by violent death, and only saved himself by an appeal to Murphy, respect for whose diplomacy was fast overcoming Captain Williams's dislike of him.

"What do ye think?" stormed Murphy, as he faced the angry men at the break of the poop. "Whin ye came over in the steamer did they allow ye up in the bridge, or aft o' the engine-room hatch? Stay forrard where ye belong, and don't git presumptions, just 'cause ye've been a year in a free country. Yer goin' back to Ireland now, to eat praties and drink water. There's no whisky on this boat, and no mate three times a day. No mate, d'ye understand?"

"No mate!" they vociferated. "No whusky!"

"No, ye bundle o' bad min, no whisky. Ye've drunk up what ye had, and that was in America. Yer not in America now, and ye'll git no whisky, nor mate, barrin' four times a week."

"We paid fur ut," they declaimed. "How kin a mon wurruk widout it?"

"Ye can wark widout it and ye will. Ye'll pull ropes as I tell you, and as ye l'arn ye'll steer the boat in yer turn."

"We'll shteer, will we?"

"Yes, ye'll steer, straight for old Ireland and praties."

"Hurrah! We'll git to the ould sod, will we?"

"Yes, but ye'll do it yerselves, mind ye. No kicks, no scraps. Ye'll do as yer told, and pull ropes, and wark."

"We'll wurruk," they declared, noisily. "It's not the loikes o' you th't'll foind the wurruk we can't do, nayther."

"We'll see," said Murphy, nodding his head portentously.

"Meanwhile, take yerself away from this end o' the boat, and stay away from it; and don't ye ever raise yer hands agin' any man that lives in this end o' the boat, or things'll happen to ye. Now git."

He drew forth the brick, and they left his vicinity.

"Captain Williams," said Murphy, solemnly, "that was a close call. If ye'll take my advice, Captain, ye won't lay hands on 'em."

"Why?" answered the skipper. "Do you think I'm going to have them trooping around my cabin?"

"No, not at all; but show 'em the brick, only don't use it, or they'll throw it back. And don't make any gun-play, for they don't know what it means, and it's no good, for ye can't shoot into thim. They're that hard that they'll turn a bullet, I'm told."

"Possibly," said the captain, looking at his hand. "I hurt myself when I hit him. Well, Murphy, all right, if you can control them. I can see that I might have to shoot them all if I shot one, and that wouldn't do."

"No, of course not, sir. I'll l'arn a few of them to steer, and the mates'll be rid of it."

So, under these conditions they worked the ship across the western ocean. By tact and "sign language" Murphy induced them to stand their tricks at the wheel; but they would stand no tutelage, and steered in their own way—a zizzag track over the sea. Another limitation which they imposed upon their usefulness was their emphatic refusal to stand watch, though from inward impulse they divided themselves into watches. They would work factory hours, or not at all, so Captain Williams had to be content with the loss of most of his light sails before the passage was half over. For a sudden increase of wind at night would occasionally prove too much for Murphy or Hennesey, with the mate on watch. As for going aloft, day or night, their case was too hopeless, even for the optimistic Murphy, even had they been willing to leave the deck—which, most decidedly, they were not.

Even so, this passage might have reached a successful termination, the homeward-bound Irishmen safely landed at Queenstown, and the others graduated in a much-needed schooling in the doctrine of the brotherhood of man; but Captain Williams, against Murphy's urgent and earnest plea for more meat on the forecastle menu, persisted in sticking to the original diet. The Albatross was a "full-and-plenty" ship—that is, one in which, with the supposed consent of the crew, the government scale was discarded in favor of one containing more vegetables and less meat. But these men knew nothing of this, or the reasons for it; and while believing that there was no whisky in the ship, they had accepted this deprivation, they were firmly assured that there was plenty of meat; so day by day their discontent grew, until by the time the ship had reached soundings they were ripe for open revolt. And it was the small, weakling steward that brought it about.

The passage had been good for all except this steward. It had brought to Captain Williams and his two mates, now recovered in mind and body from the first friction, the unspoken but fixed conception that there were men in the world not afraid of them. It had reduced Murphy's fat, and his resentment against Hennesey and Captain Williams. It had increased Hennesey's respect for Murphy and lessened his respect for himself; for without Murphy's moral support he could not have done his part. It had eliminated the alcohol from the veins and the brains of the twenty-four wild men, and lessened the propensity to kill at the same time that it lessened their fear of a brick. It had lessened the sublime, ages-old contempt for white men that the Chinese cook shared with his countrymen, and which simply had to yield to the fear of death inspired by three or four frenzied Irish faces at the galley door, their owners demanding "mate." But the small steward, busy with his cabin dishes, his cabin carpets, only visiting the galley to obtain the cabin meals, had seen nothing, felt nothing, and learned nothing. And, with the indifference of ignorance, he had left his brick in the galley—the fatal spot where it ought not to have been, in view of what was to happen.

For three stormy days the ship had been charging along before a wind that had increased to a gale, and a following sea that threatened to climb aboard. The jib-topsail, the skysails and royals, the lighter middle staysails, and the fore and mizzen topgallantsails had been blown away, and the ship was practically under topsails, a bad equipment of canvas with which to claw off a lee shore. The lee shore developed at daylight of the fourth stormy morning, a dim blue heightening of the horizon to the east, dead ahead; and Captain Williams, who had been unable to get a sight with his sextant for six days, could only determine that his dead reckoning, based upon the wild steering of his crew, had brought him too far to the north, and that the land he saw was the coast above Mizen Head.

After breakfast, when factory hours began, he called all hands to the braces; and they came, bracing the yards for the starboard tack, to keep away from that menacing lee shore; but, during the work, Murphy, by way of encouragement, called the crew's attention to the dim blot of blue to leeward.

"The Imerald Isle, boys," he declared. "Wark, ye watchmakers, wark, and git home."

They worked nobly, but wondered why the ship was heading away from the Emerald Isle, and expressed their wonder loudly and profanely. In vain did Murphy explain that Queenstown was around the corner to the south, and it was to Queenstown that they were bound. Their dissatisfaction grew, and at dinner-time lifted them above the weakening influence of the "sign language."

They had never taken account of the days when meat was due, ascribing the fixed hiatuses to the unkindness of the Chinese cook; and when they mustered at the galley door at noon and the cook handed them a huge pan of bean soup they raged at him, incoherently, but vehemently.

"Whaur's th' mate—the mate? Giv's the mate, ye haythen! giv's the mate, domyersool!"

The cook shrank back before their gleaming eyes and threatening fists, and they crowded into the galley, where, as fate determined, the mild little steward was gathering up the cabin dinner. He seized his brick.

"Now, here, you men," he said, bravely, "you get right out of this galley. Do you hear?" And he waved his brick threateningly.

"Whaur's the mate? Giv's the mate, ye man-killers."

"The mate is aft. You know that well as I do. Go right out of this galley."

"Whaur's the mate?"

"Aft in the cabin, I told you. Get out of here."

Even now things might have been well, for a few of them showed a willingness to go aft for the "mate." But the men of the other county came to the other galley door, and, menaced from both sides, the steward unwisely threw his brick. It struck the head of the foremost Irishman (it was the man on his wedding trip) and almost knocked him down. The cook frantically followed suit, and carnage began. The two gangs crowded into the narrow apartment, and the cook and steward soon went underfoot before the shower of fist-blows and kicks. They would assuredly have been injured in the melee had not a Limerick face approached too temptingly close to a Galway fist and diverted the storm. In utter fear of death the two crawled to the stove and pried up a couple of bricks while the rival factions fought each other. But their action was observed, and with whoops and oaths the combatants armed themselves, while the cook and steward crawled under the galley table for safety.

The captain and first mate were in the cabin, waiting for their dinner. The second mate was near the wheel, admonishing the Irish helmsman, as he dared, in the way of better steering "by-the-wind." Hennesey was in the port forecastle, just turning out after his forenoon watch below, and Murphy was amidships; but the sound of oaths, shrieks of rage and pain, and the incessant hammering of bricks upon the bulkheads and the pots and pans of the galley brought all to the scene, the captain and mates with their pistols.

"Hold on, Captain," said Murphy; "don't shoot any wan. Just let 'em fight it out, then they'll be more tractable."

This seemed reasonable, and the group watched from the main-hatch. There was a steady flight of bricks out through each galley door, some impacting upon the rails and falling to the deck, others going overboard. Occasionally an Irishman would reel out in company with the brick that had impelled him; but, after crawling around on all-fours for a moment, he would go back with a brick gleaned from the deck. At last, however, one came out with a little more momentum than usual—enough to carry him over to the rail; and from this point of view he could see the group at the hatch. He glared at them from under his tousled hair, then uttered a war-whoop.

"Ei-hei-ee, in thaur!" he yelled, "quit yer foolin' an' c'm'an out. Here be the bloody murders, the man-killers, the domned sons uv a landlord. C'm'an out, ye divils."

They heard, and they came, from both doors, with bloody faces and blackened eyes, and, seeing the captain and his aids, charged as one man. In vain Murphy's poised brick and Hennesey's persuasive voice. In vain the leveled pistols of the captain and mates and their thundering orders to stop or be shot down. There came a volley of bricks, and the captain's pistol was knocked from his hand, while a second brick, striking him on the head, robbed him of sense and volition. Each of the mates fired his pistol once, but not again; the bullets flew wide, and the firearms were twisted from their hands, while they were tripped up, struck, and kicked about until helpless to rise or resist. Hennesey and Murphy were also borne to the deck and punished. Some might have been killed had not one inspired Celt given voice to an original idea.

"Lock 'em up!" he shouted. "Lock 'em up in the kitchen, an' nail the dures on thim!"

They joyously accepted the suggestion. The four weak and stricken conscious men were dragged or shoved into the galley by some, while others lifted the unconscious captain after them. Then the doors were closed, and soon they heard the hammering of nails over the jangle of voices. Then the jangle of voices took on a new and distinct note of unanimity.

"Turn the boat, Denny," they shouted to the man at the wheel. "Turn the boat around. We'll go home in sphite o' thim, the vilyuns."

Their footfalls sounded fainter and fainter as they rushed aft; and Murphy picked himself up from the floor, now almost denuded of its brick paving.

"For the love of Gawd," he groaned, wiping the blood from his eyes, "are they goin' to beach her in this gale?"

The galley was lighted by two large deadlights, one each side, too small to crawl through, but large enough for a man's head. Murphy reached his head through one of them and looked aft. They had surrounded the wheel, and their war-cries were audible. As many as six were handling the spokes, and the big ship was squaring away before the wind, heading for that dim spot of blue in the murk and smoke to leeward. Murphy could see it when the ship pitched into a hollow—about forty miles away.

"And us locked up like rats in a trap," he muttered. "She'll strike in four hours, and Gawd help us all if we can't git out of here."

But there was no getting out, and they made the best of it. The cook and steward emerged from beneath the table, and made more or less frivolous comments on the condition of the galley and the ruin of the dinner, until silenced by the irate Murphy. The two mates took their hands from their aching heads and showed interest in life; and in time Captain Williams came to his senses and sat up on the floor, smeared with bean soup and cluttered with dented pots, pans, and stove-fittings. He was told the situation, and wisely accepted it; for nothing could be done.

And from aft came to their ears the joyous whoops of the homeward-bound men, close to their native land and anxious to get to it by the shortest route. Murphy occasionally looked out at them; they were all near the wheel, cursing and berating those handling the spokes, and being cursed in return. But they were not quarreling.

"Me brother Mike was right," muttered Murphy, as he drew his head in after a look at them. "They've forgotten their dinner. They'd rather fight than ate, but rather wark than fight."

The big, light ship, even with upper canvas gone and the yards braced to port, was skimming along over the heaving seas at a ten-knot rate, and Murphy's occasional glimpses of that growing landfall showed him details of rock and wood and red sandy soil that bespoke a steep beach and a rocky bottom. The air was full of spume and the gale whistled dismally through the rigging with a sound very much like that of Murphy's big base-burner in his Front Street boarding-house, when the chill wintry winds whistled over the housetops. He wondered if he would ever return.

"God help us, Skipper," he said, solemnly, "if we don't strike at high tide. For at low tide we'll go to pieces an' be drowned as the water rises."

"I looked it up this morning," said the captain, painfully; for he was still dazed from the effects of the brick. "It is high tide on this coast at four this afternoon."

"All to the good, as far as our lives are consarned," said Murphy; "and mebbe for your ship, Skipper. It'll be hard to salve her, of course; but she won't git the poundin' she'd get at low-water mark."

"I don't care. It's a matter for the underwriters. Don't bother me. I may kill you, Murphy, and your man Hennesey, some day, but not now. I'm too sick."

They waited in silence until the crash came—a sickening sound of riven timbers and snapping wire rope. Then, from the sudden stopping of the ship, there came a heightening and a strengthening of the song of the wind in the rigging, and the thumping of upper spars, jolted clear of their fastenings by the shock. Looking out, Murphy saw that the topgallantmasts, with their yards, were hanging by their gear, threatening to fall at any heave of the ship on her rocky bed. And he saw that the beach was not a hundred yards distant. Also, that the crew was flocking forward.

"Let us out of here," he called, as they came within hearing. "What more do ye want, ye bogtrotters? Ye've wrecked the man's boat, but d'ye want to kill us?"

"Yis," they chorused. "Why not, ye divils? Ye've nearly killed us all, dom yez. No mate, no whusky, no money. Tell us the road to Galway."

"An' the road to Limerick," said another. "An' whin do we git paid aff?"

"I'll have ye in jail, ye hyeenas," said Murphy. "That's yer pay, and that's the road to Galway and Limerick. Wait till the coast guard comes along. They'll git ye."

He drew back to avoid a brick that threatened to enter the deadlight, and the conversation ended.

Meanwhile the ship was slowly swinging around broadside to the beach. She was too high out of water for the seas to board her, though they pounded her weather side with deafening noise, and with each impact she was lifted shoreward a few feet more. Finally the crashings ceased, and they knew that, with water in the hold, she had gone as high as the seas could drive her. Then, with the going down of the tide, the heavy poundings of the sea grew less and the voices of the crew on the forecastle deck more audible.

"Can we make it in three jumps, Terrence?" they heard.

"No, ye fule. The wather's goin' down. Howld yer whist."

Murphy, looking out through the deadlight, could see nothing of the water between the ship and the beach; but far down to the south he discerned a team of horses dragging a wagon holding a boat, and this he explained to the skipper.

"The coast guard," explained the latter. "God grant that they get here before that bunch gets away. English law is severe upon mutineers."

But in this Captain Williams was doomed to disappointment. The coast guard arrived in time and released them. But before this each man of the twenty-four had passed before the open deadlight, derided and jeered the unlucky prisoners, called them unprintable names, and slid down the side on a rope to dry land.

Murphy looked at them climbing the hills inland, their whoops and yells coming back to him like paeans of victory.

"And what county do ye think this is, Skipper?" he asked.

"The county of Cork, of course," answered the captain.

"Well," said Murphy, "an enemy's country. We'll hope that the county o' Cork 'll take care o' thim. They're beyand you and me and Hennesey, Skipper."



EXTRACTS FROM NOAH'S LOG

While exploring the rocky gullies and canyons in the foothills of Mount Ararat last summer, I found a roughly symmetrical mass of pure copper. Oxidized and honeycombed as it was, I recognized the metal immediately, and repressing a strong inclination to hunt for the lead and stake out my claim, I took my find home with me. Surprised at its diminishing weight as the moisture dried out of the spongy mass, I endeavored to saw into it. The pure metal inside tore off every tooth of the saw, and now convinced that it was a hollow cylinder of hardened copper, I brought it to America and gave it to a machinist to open. He ruined two dozen finely-tempered saws in the job, which I cheerfully settled for, as the cylinder contained a papyrus roll of manuscript of certainly great antiquity.

My efforts to decipher it were baffled, as it was written in neither ancient nor modern Egyptian, new nor old Pali, nor in Greek, Latin, Sanscrit, nor in any other language with which I am acquainted. So I called in the services of two reverend friends of mine—able, eminent, and renowned professors of biology, bibliology, ethnology, and sockdology—who at once pronounced it ancient Cush and proceeded to translate it; one remarking with a levity which but indifferently became his calling, as I thought, that the exceeding toughness of the yarn no doubt accounted for the difficulty of sawing into it—in which view his collaborator, to my surprise, was inclined to coincide.

However, I cheerfully give them credit for the translation, but am free to maintain that the elegance of diction, force of expression, and choiceness of synonyms are my own.

Besides, I found it.

THE LOG.

Mon., 7 days out. Raining yet, very hard—A few sinners still on deck; a bunch got washed off last night; kinder sorry for them—Ham will get a rope's-end if he don't look out; he skylarks too much with the animals; put all the dogs in the cats' cage last night, and the whole menagerie got excited at the row they made; couldn't hear ourselves think for two hours; every brute in the outfit sung his song—Roof leaks—Women say it's washday and have started in on the week's wash; just like women; how'll they dry clothes this weather?

Course E. B. S. Ham at the wheel, Shem on the lookout.

Tues., 8 days out. 4 bells. Women are growling because the sun don't shine so the wash can dry; told them such murmuring as they indulged in was flying straight in the face of Providence; told me to mind my own business; remarked that I was captain here and wouldn't take back talk from anyone; hove a bucket of water over me, durn them. 6 bells. Got my log line strung up along 'tween decks and the whole blamed wash triced up in everybody's way. If I want to heave the log at 8 bells, overboard goes the wash, and don't care who likes it; I'm boss here. 8 bells. Didn't heave the log—Guess we're making four knots; wind fresh.

Course E. S. E. Shem at the wheel, Japheth on the lookout.

Wed., 9 days out. Ironing day; blowing a gale of wind; women are making hard work of it and getting seasick—Hove to at 8 bells this morning; lays easy; kicked Ham away from the wheel and steered his trick; afraid I can't make a sailor of him; wish I'd saved a few sinners to work ship; could have drowned them afterwards.

Heading N. E. by N. Japheth at the wheel.

Thurs., 10 days out. Wish I knew who drinks my whiskey—Made sail at daylight; difficult work, this handling sail below decks; can't see aloft, must feel when sheets are home; don't like these new fangled rolling topsails that furl themselves; they're not shipshape, but we're too short-handed for the old style—Wind going down.

Course due E. Shem at the wheel, Ham on the lookout.

Fri., 11 days out. Foggy; can't see two lengths; two of us on the lookout—Ham is under the scuttlebutt, drunk; whiskey lower; slight connection here, maybe—Women are quarreling among themselves; they're a heap of trouble; never quiet till they're seasick; found out they get seasick in a head sea; will remember this—The lion got out last night and made a lunch out of my wife's pet dog Beauty; chased him back to his cage with a handspike; sorry I had to hurt him; seven pugs left now; we started with a pair to each woman.

No wind and nobody at the wheel.

Sat., 12 days out. Wish it would clear up; sinners must be all dead by this time—Have had a hard day of it; that boy Ham let go the port anchor, and the whole range of chain, 45 fathoms, went out the hawse-pipe and fetched up with a jerk that carried away the windlass bitts and nearly tore the bows off her; kicked him up on deck in the rain while we mended the windlass; hunted him up to help heave in chain and found he'd sneaked down, got at my jug, and was dead drunk alongside the same; don't see what the Lord wanted to save him for—Must be clear of soundings now, so will keep her hove to for a while under short sail, with the wheel lashed down.

Sun., 13 days out. Held religious exercises at 4 bells; Ham attended, very devout and penitent, with a head as big as the jug—Women have tricked themselves out and are mincing around showing off; made me put on a white shirt; will get rid of it directly—Dead calm all day—Found the ark had a slight list to starboard; investigated, and discovered about three tons of stones, dead cats, and garbage stuck fast to the pitch outside; these things are what the sinners threw at the ark after we came aboard—Have locked up my whiskey.

Wed., 16 days out. Made a great mistake when we started; was puzzled how to feed the spiders, mosquitoes, bedbugs, and such; turned them loose to hustle for themselves, and that's what they've done ever since—Another pug disappeared last night; six left; gave Ham a talking to about getting drunk; was sassy and I boxed his ears; told him if I ever saw him drunk again aboard my ship I'd log him; he don't seem to care, but that's what I'll do every time—Still hove to.

Sun., 20 days out. Ham broke into my locker last night, and is roaring drunk again; can't find the jug; will log him every time now—No religious exercises to-day; women are complaining of my impiety, but a man can't feel resigned when he has just lost a four-gallon jug of the best Egyptian corn whiskey.

Mon., 21 days out. Ham's drunk.

Tues., 22 days out. Ditto's ditto.

Wed., 23 days out. Do. do.

Thurs., 24 days out. Do. blind do.

Fri., 25 days out. Do. dead do.

Sat., 26 days out. Do. got snakes; got 'em bad; wish I could find that jug.

Sun., 27 days out. Two more pugs missing; must keep away from the lion's cage when the women are around; he seems too pleased to see me, and they are getting suspicious; four of the ugly brutes left now—found my jug; Ham stowed it in my own bunk; he's smarter than I thought—Had religious exercises; women wanted to mourn for their pugs; am willing they should mourn—Took a cast of the lead at noon; thirty fathoms, mud bottom; made sail and squared away due E.

Mon., 28 days out. My wife has confiscated the jug and means to keep it; we'll see about that; says it is the cause of poor, dear Ham's sickness; undoubtedly; should have let it alone—Shem at the wheel, Japheth on the lookout.

Course E.

Wed., 30 days out. Mutiny! Bloody Mut—— d——n! ——!! (Note—Here the manuscript bears evidence that Captain Noah was suddenly interrupted while writing.—Translator.)

Fri., 32 days out. Have had a lively time; discipline is restored, but the whiskey jug is gone—smashed over my head—all on account of the pugs; had hoped to rid the world of these parodies on the canine race, and would have succeeded if my wife hadn't overhauled my pockets when I was asleep and read this log. Certain references to the pugs put her on the lookout and she and the other women watched me; one of the brutes littered that night; I couldn't resist the temptation, and so fed the whole batch, mother and all, to the lion; in a minute had four furious women afoul of me, biting and clawing; sung out for help, and Shem and Japheth bore down and rescued me; Ham helped the women and made a majority for them; his mother had the jug, that's why; managed to floor him with a pump-brake, but they were still too many for us and chased us around decks till they got tired and sat down to cry; got to my room and began writing them down in the log when they started in again; my wife smashed the whiskey jug over my head—then we all escaped on deck and went aloft; couldn't follow us, but sat down and said things—Had a council of war, then Shem shinned over to the foremast and cut away all the jib halliards and sheets and halliards on the fore—Ark had broached to in trough sea when Japheth left the wheel to help me, and had laid there with yards square and rolling considerable; women could stand that motion, but not a head sea, so now when she came up to the wind and began pounding up and down and drifting astern, they got qualmish and in twenty minutes were sprawled out helpless; Ham didn't know enough to take the wheel and throw her off, so we came down, tied the women hand and foot, and then went for Ham; triced him up and rope's-ended him till his nose bled; begged and howled, but had to take it and learn that mutiny is unsafe aboard my ship—Kept her head to the sea till we had spliced and rove off the gear, then set canvas and squared away again—Women got better; read the articles to them; were penitent and promised to behave, but before turning them loose we went on a pug hunt and passed two of them in to the lion; only one left now, but we haven't found it yet; women howled a good deal and called us heartless, cruel fiends—that's all right.

My wife had lost the log-book in her excitement, and I only found it to-day.

Course N. E. by E. Shem at the wheel. Jap. on the lookout.

Sun., 34 days out. No religious services to-day; women are talking about me—don't talk to me; if they do, I'll speak of that jug.

Course due E. Blowing fresh. J. at the wheel, S. on lookout.

Mon., 35 days out. Wash day, but there is no washing going on; won't have it; am captain here; they were ugly at first, but I hauled her on a wind and said nothing; can't find that pug—Keep Ham at work on the menagerie now, feeding the animals and cleaning the cages—Dead calm.

Wed., 37 days out. Nothing new; pug still missing; good mind to turn the lion loose; he'll find the cur.

Fri., 39 days out. If I don't find that pug to-day, will let the lion out first thing to-morrow.

Sat., 40 days out. Stopped raining—We all went on deck this morning; it was a frightful picture—sun shining, not a cloud in the sky and not a sign of land nor ship, nor even a bird, in all this expanse of desolation; no life nor joyousness, nothing but muddy water; the dead world fathoms underneath, and we alone, with our ark, all that was left; and whiskey gone—not a shot in the locker.

At noon locked up the women and turned the lion loose; he didn't find the pug, but found most everything else; smashed some bird cages and a raven and dove got away; dove came back at sundown, but the raven didn't; let all the birds out to get the air and roost up aloft.

Sat., 47 days out. Chicken missing this morning; suspect Ham of stealing it—A pigeon fluttered down on deck with a green leaf fast in its gullet and half choked; pulled leaf out; pigeon must have been somewhere else and got it; will keep to the eastward and look out for land.

Tues., 50 days out. Blowing great guns, and dismasted; under double reefs, storm spanker, and foretopmast staysail at daylight; blew away the staysail; set jib; that went too and took jibboom; cut away the wreck; she came up to the wind, caught aback, and away went the mizzenmast at the deck; cut that away, paid off in the trough of the sea, and rolled the fore and mainmast out; cleared away everything, rigged out a sea anchor, and now were riding it out comfortable—that is, for us; women are all sick.

Land to the eastward, small island.

60 days out. Land still in sight; gets bigger; suppose the water is going down; nothing to do now but eat, sleep, and hunt for that pug—Still riding at the sea anchor.

100 days out. Pug must be dead—More land showing up.

150 days out. Noon—Driving on a lee shore stern foremost; getting anchors ready; sundown—let go both anchors as we got close in; dragged, and here we are, with every sea making a clean sweep over us; ark won't last long; getting out liferaft and turning animals loose.

Next morning. Floated ashore all right; ark is breaking up and animals swimming in; last to come were that missing pug and seven half-grown pups; submit to the will of Providence, but still think women had the durned brute hid in the lower hold.

Next day. Poor place to live on this island—Nothing grown, but a grapevine I found on the beach; will take care of it; it means grapes, and grapes mean juice, and it's been a long time between drinks—Ham is quite useful now; takes a deep interest in the vine and helps me 'tend it.

Month later. Grapevine is doing well.

Four months later. Grapes appearing.

Two months later. Picked the grapes; now for some wine—Ham is a model boy; did him good to rope's-end him.

Five months later. Wine has worked; will serve grog to-morrow and celebrate the anniversary of our shipwreck.

Next day. (The manuscript of this last day's entry is obscure, and so incoherent, as to make it strongly probable that Captain Noah served the grog as indicated, and that he wrote while under the influence of the same. There are, however, some legible references to certain "pugs" which would go to show that he still had those animals in mind and perhaps regretted his failure to effect their extinction.—Translator.)

THE END