course; but so far as I could see, this and one other were the only ones that were rigidly enforced.  The captain explained that he enforced this one because his own cabin adjoined the smoking-room, and the smell of tobacco smoke made him sick.  I did not see how our smoke could reach him, for the smoking-room and his cabin were on the upper deck, targets for all the winds that blew; and besides there was no crack of communication between them, no opening of any sort in the solid intervening bulkhead.  Still, to a delicate stomach even imaginary smoke can convey damage.

The captain, with his gentle nature, his polish, his sweetness, his moral and verbal purity, seemed pathetically out of place in his rude and autocratic vocation.  It seemed another instance of the irony of fate.

He was going home under a cloud.  The passengers knew about his trouble, and were sorry for him.  Approaching Vancouver through a narrow and difficult passage densely befogged with smoke from the forest fires, he had had the ill-luck to lose his bearings and get his ship on the rocks.  A matter like this would rank merely as an error with you and me; it ranks as a crime with the directors of steamship companies.  The captain had been tried by the Admiralty Court at Vancouver, and its verdict had acquitted him of blame.  But that was insufficient comfort.  A sterner court would examine the case in Sydney—­the Court of Directors, the lords of a company in whose ships the captain had served as mate a number of years.  This was his first voyage as captain.

The officers of our ship were hearty and companionable young men, and they entered into the general amusements and helped the passengers pass the time.  Voyages in the Pacific and Indian Oceans are but pleasure excursions for all hands.  Our purser was a young Scotchman who was equipped with a grit that was remarkable.  He was an invalid, and looked it, as far as his body was concerned, but illness could not subdue his spirit.  He was full of life, and had a gay and capable tongue.  To all appearances he was a sick man without being aware of it, for he did not talk about his ailments, and his bearing and conduct were those of a person in robust health; yet he was the prey, at intervals, of ghastly sieges of pain in his heart.  These lasted many hours, and while the attack continued he could neither sit nor lie.  In one instance he stood on his feet twenty-four hours fighting for his life with these sharp agonies, and yet was as full of life and cheer and activity the next day as if nothing had happened.