belonging to the same firm as the Tucopia.  He was a silent, good-looking man of about sixty, and possessed of much caustic humour and a remarkable fund of smoking-room stories, which, on rare occasions, he would relate in an inimitable, drawling manner, as if he was tired.  The chief mate was a deeply but not obtrusively religious Scotsman; the second officer, Allen, was a young man of thirty, an excellent seaman, but rough to the verge of brutality with the crew.  Bruce, on the other hand, was too easy-going and patient.

“I never want to raise my hand against a man,” he said one day, as a protest, when Allen gave one of the crew an unmerciful cuff which sent him down as if he had been shot.

“Neither do I,” replied Allen, “I prefer raising my foot.  But it’s habit, Mr. Bruce, only habit.”

For five days the barque ran steadily on an E.N.E. course, then on the sixth day the wind hauled, and by sunset it was blowing hard from the eastward with a fast-gathering sea.  By two in the morning Robertson and his officers knew that they were in for a three-days’ easterly gale; a few hours later it was decided to heave-to, as the sea had become dangerous, and the little vessel was straining badly.  Just after this had been done, the gale set in with redoubled fury, and when Mrs. Lacy came on deck shortly before breakfast, she shuddered at the wild spectacle.  Coming to the break of the poop, she clasped the iron rail with both hands, and gazed fearfully about her.

“You had better go below, ma’am,” said the second mate, who was standing near, talking to Otway, “there’s some nasty, lumpy seas.”

Then he gave a yell.

“Look out there!”

Springing to Mrs. Lacy’s side, he clasped his left arm around her waist, and held on tightly to the iron rail with his right, just as a vast mountain of water took the barque amidships, fell on her deck with terrific force, and fairly buried her from the topgallant foc’scle to the level of the poop.  In less than half a minute the galley, for’ard deck-house, long-boat, which was lying on the main hatch, and the port bulwarks had vanished, together with three poor seamen who were asleep in the deck-house.  The fearful crash brought the captain flying on deck.  One glance showed him that there was no chance of saving the men—­to attempt to lower a boat in such a sea was utterly impossible, and would be madness itself.  He sighed, and then took off his cap.  Allen and Otway followed his example.

“Is there no hope for them?” Mrs. Lacy whispered to Otway.

“None,” replied the supercargo in a low voice.  “None.”  Then he urged her to go below, as it was not safe for her to remain on deck.  She went at once, and met her husband just as he was leaving their cabin.

“What is the matter, Nell?” he asked, as he saw that tears were in her eyes.

“Three poor men have been carried overboard, Wilfrid.  They were in the deck-house asleep ten minutes ago—­now they are gone!  Oh, isn’t it dreadful, dreadful!” And then she sat down beside him and wept silently.