t approached the horizon line. The
sea stretched out into the distance--to the east, an endless succession
of purple wavelets, tipped here and there with white; to the west, where
the sun was slowly sinking in all its tropical glory, one seething mass
of molten silver.

It was indeed a glorious sight, and most of our readers will be of
opinion that those who had the opportunity of beholding it, would--for
the time at least--have bestowed little attention on anything else. But
if they had been at sea as long as Captain Wilmore, they might perhaps
have thought differently. Captain Wilmore had been forty years a
sailor; and whether given, or not given, to admire brilliant skies and
golden sunsets in his early youth, he had at all events long ceased to
trouble himself about them. He was at the outset of this story sitting
in his cabin--having just parted from his first lieutenant, Mr Grey--
and was receiving with a very dubious face the report of an old
quartermaster. A fine mastiff was seated by the captain's chair,
apparently listening with much gravity to what passed.

"Well, Jennings, Mr Grey tells me you have something to report, which
he thinks ought to be brought straight to me, in order that I may
question you myself about it. What is it? Is it something about these
gentlemen we have on board? Are they dissatisfied, or has Lion here
offended them?"

"No, cap'en," said the old sailor; "I wish 'twas only something o' that
sort. That would be easy to be disposed of, that would."

"What is it, then? Is it the men, who are grumbling--short rations, or
weak grog, or what?"

"There's more rations and stronger grog than is like to be wanted,
cap'en," said Jennings, evasively, for he was evidently anxious to
escape communicating his intelligence, whatever it might be, as long as
possible.

"What do you mean, Jennings?" exclaimed Captain Wilmore, roused by the
quartermaster's manner. "More rations and stronger grog than the men
want? I don't understand you."

"Well, cap'en, I'm afraid some on 'em won't eat and drink aboard this
ship no more."

"What, are any of them sick, or dead--or, by heaven, have any of them
deserted?"

"I'm afeared they has, cap'en. You remember the Yankee trader, as sent
a boat to ask us to take some letters to Calcutta?"

"Yes, to be sure; what of him?"

"Well, I've heard since, as his crew was going about among our chaps all
the time he was aboard, offering of 'em a fist ha