In five weeks Mr. ‘—­’ had spent at least as many thousands of pounds; and still matters were at a stand when, one day, Mr. Tomlinson reported a boat under our quarter demanding speech with us.  I went to the side and saw a tall lank-haired man, in a suit of white duck, standing in the stern-sheets with the tiller-lines in his hands.

“No pigtail on me, Cap!” he bawled.  “I’m Oliphant Q. Wills, of the American barque Independence:  and I want to come aboard.”  He pointed to his vessel, which had entered the river soon after us, and now lay, ready for sea, two cables distant from us.

I saw no reason for refusing; and in less than a minute he came running up the ladder, and introduced himself again.  “Business,” said he; so I led him to my cabin.

“Hullo!” said he, looking over the floor.  “I observe you don’t chew.”  He glanced at the stern-window.  I opened it.  Our talk then ran as follows: 

Capt.  W.  “I’ve come to trade.”

Self.  “Then you have come, sir, to a very bad ship.”

Capt.  W.  “I allowed you would say that.  I know all about it, and came
           in consequence.  I never miss a chance.”

Self.  “You wish to buy, of course.”

Capt.  W.  “Not at all.  I’m here to sell.”

Self.  “What, pray?”

Capt.  W.  “A half-hogshead cask of pretty ordinary Geneva:  with a
           Dutchwoman inside.”

Self.  “Now, where on earth could you have picked that up?”

Capt.  W. (spitting out of window).  “In latitude 28 degrees; in a flat
          calm; off a Dutch East Indiaman.  The name I have at home on a
          bit of paper:  you shall have it as warranty with the cask. 
          The captain was drunk, and I traded with the mate.  I never
          miss a chance.  The mate said nothing of the woman inside. 
          I believe her to be his captain’s wife, preserved for burial
          ashore.  This is painful for me to speak about; for I had the
          worst of the deal, and such is not my reputation.  But I
          allowed I would sell that cask at a profit if I carried it
          around for a hundred years.”

Self.  “What do you ask?”

Capt.  W.  “Well, I have been enquiring of Mr. ‘—­’, your Chief Factor
          here; and he tells me that your brother, Mr. Obed Lanyon, was
          with Cook and Vancouver, and knows the coast from Cape
          Flattery northwards and round by the Aleutians like the palm
          of his hand.  Now it happens I have business up there among
          the Russian settlements—­part trade, part exploring—­
          I needn’t say more, for the United States’ Government didn’t
          send me to tell secrets.  A man like your brother would be
          money in my pocket all the way:  and at the end of the