Taddy gloated on his enemy, and began to pick up again from that hour.

The wind improved, and, as usual in that latitude, scarcely varied a point.  They had a pleasant time,—­private theatricals and other amusements till they got to latitude 26 deg.  S. and longitude 27 deg.  W. Then the trade wind deserted them.  Light and variable winds succeeded.

The master complained of the chronometers, and the captain thought it his duty to verify or correct them; and so shaped his course for the island of Tristan d’Acunha, then lying a little way out of his course.  I ought, perhaps, to explain to the general reader that the exact position of this island being long ago established and recorded, it was an infallible guide to go by in verifying a ship’s chronometers.

Next day the glass fell all day, and the captain said he should double-reef topsails at nightfall, for something was brewing.

The weather, however, was fine, and the ship was sailing very fast, when, about half an hour before sunset, the mast-head man hailed that there was a bulk of timber in sight, broad on the weather-bow.

The signalman was sent up, and said it looked like a raft.

The captain, who was on deck, levelled his glass at it, and made it out a raft, with a sort of rail to it, and the stump of a mast.

He ordered the officer of the watch to keep the ship as close to the wind as possible.  He should like to examine it if he could.

The master represented, respectfully, that it would be unadvisable to beat to windward for that.  “I have no faith in our chronometers, sir, and it is important to make the island before dark; fogs rise here so suddenly.”

“Very well, Mr. Bolt; then I suppose we must let the raft go.”

“Man on the raft to windward!” hailed the signalman.

This electrified the ship.  The captain ran up the mizzen rigging, and scanned the raft, now nearly abeam.

“It is a man!” he cried, and was about to alter the ship’s course when, at that moment, the signalman hailed again,—­

“It is A corpse.”

“How d’ye know?”

“By the gulls.”

Then succeeded an exciting dialogue between the captain and the master, who, being in his department, was very firm; and went so far as to say he would not answer for the safety of the ship, if they did not sight the land before dark.

The captain said, “Very well,” and took a turn or two.  But at last he said, “No.  Her Majesty’s ship must not pass a raft with a man on it, dead or alive.”

He then began to give the necessary orders; but before they were all out of his mouth, a fatal interruption occurred.

Tadcaster ran into Dr. Staines’s cabin, crying, “A raft with a corpse close by!”

Staines sprang to the quarter port to see, and craning eagerly out, the lower port chain, which had not been well secured, slipped, the port gave way, and as his whole weight rested on it, canted him headlong into the sea.