“I am afraid I am an American,” I said apologetically.

He seemed the least bit taken aback, but recovered himself; and with the ready tact of his betters, paid me the usual British compliment on the riposte.  “You don’t say so!” he exclaimed.  “Well, I give you my word of honour, I’d never have guessed it.  Nobody could tell it on you,” said he, as though it were some form of liquor.

I thanked him, as I always do, at this particular stage, with his compatriots:  not so much perhaps for the compliment to myself and my poor country, as for the revelation (which is ever fresh to me) of Britannic self-sufficiency and taste.  And he was so far softened by my gratitude as to add a word of praise on the American method of lacing sails.  “You’re ahead of us in lacing sails,” he said.  “You can say that with a clear conscience.”

“Thank you,” I replied.  “I shall certainly do so.”

At this rate, we got along swimmingly; and when I rose to retrace my steps to the Fowlery, he at once started to his feet and offered me the welcome solace of his company for the return.  I believe I discovered much alacrity at the idea, for the creature (who seemed to be unique, or to represent a type like that of the dodo) entertained me hugely.  But when he had produced his hat, I found I was in the way of more than entertainment; for on the ribbon I could read the legend:  “H.M.S.  Tempest.”

“I say,” I began, when our adieus were paid, and we were scrambling down the path from the look-out, “it was your ship that picked up the men on board the Flying Scud, wasn’t it?”

“You may say so,” said he.  “And a blessed good job for the Flying-Scuds.  It’s a God-forsaken spot, that Midway Island.”

“I’ve just come from there,” said I.  “It was I who bought the wreck.”

“Beg your pardon, sir,” cried the sailor:  “gen’lem’n in the white schooner?”

“The same,” said I.

My friend saluted, as though we were now, for the first time, formally introduced.

“Of course,” I continued, “I am rather taken up with the whole story; and I wish you would tell me what you can of how the men were saved.”

“It was like this,” said he.  “We had orders to call at Midway after castaways, and had our distance pretty nigh run down the day before.  We steamed half-speed all night, looking to make it about noon; for old Tootles—­beg your pardon, sir—­the captain—­was precious scared of the place at night.  Well, there’s nasty, filthy currents round that Midway; YOU know, as has been there; and one on ’em must have set us down.  Leastways, about six bells, when we had ought to been miles away, some one sees a sail, and lo and be’old, there was the spars of a full-rigged brig!  We raised her pretty fast, and the island after her; and made out she was hard aground, canted on her bilge, and had her ens’n flying, union down.  It was breaking ’igh on the reef, and we laid well out, and sent a couple of boats.