“Well, what is the matter, Bill? Do you see anything unusual away there to wind’ard, to set you staring like an owl in an ivy bush?” demanded the mate, somewhat impatiently.

“Yes, sir. There’s something away over there,” replied the man, pointing with his hand, “that looks like a dismasted ship, or a craft on her beam-ends. Whatever it is, it is very low in the water; and the sea is breaking very heavily over it.”

The mate said no more, but swung himself into the mizzen-rigging, and made his way as far aloft as the cross-trees; when he turned and, bracing himself against the masthead, directed his glances toward that part of the horizon indicated by the seaman. Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked steadily for a full minute; then he said something to the man beside him, when the latter nimbly descended the ratlines to the deck, and, explaining that “Mr Roberts wants the glass, sir,” went to the companion, where the instrument always hung in beckets, secured it, and took it aloft to the mate. With its assistance a still more prolonged examination was made; and when it was at length completed, the two men returned to the deck together.

“Well, Mr Roberts, what do you make of it?” I inquired, as the mate, having restored the telescope it its accustomed place, joined me near the break of the poop.

“Well, sir, there is something away there to windward,” was the reply, “but what it is I couldn’t very well make out, the sea was breaking so heavy over it. Sometimes it has the look of a dismasted and waterlogged ship; and then again it takes t