e. I'm a Jonah--a Jonah from the curse that has come to
me. Put me ashore, ye poor, unfortunate fule."

Scotty was led away--after the gentle manner of the sea--and, in spite
of his loud protestations that he was a competent able seaman, placed at
the degrading labor of coal passing. When the cooler atmosphere of the
stoke-hole had lowered his temperature somewhat, he again went to the
captain and earnestly told his story--of his theft, his bad luck and the
bad luck he had brought to others.

"The curse is a-warkin' and a-growin' on me, cappen," he concluded,
sorrowfully. "I'm the line-e-al desceendent o' the Flyin' Dutchman, sir.
And I'll wrack your ship wi'oot meanin' to."

"I've read the Bible," said the captain, calmly. "I know what to do with
Jonahs. I always throw them overboard."

Scotty shoveled and wheeled coal for three months, then his prediction
was fulfilled. Within a day's run to Melbourne, the screw slipped off
the tail-shaft, and as it went to the bottom of the Indian Ocean, the
racing engine went to pieces. This might not have prevented the
steamer's reaching port under sail or tow, but the forward crank-pin
broke, and the piston drove up with nothing to stop it, fetched up with
a mighty jolt against the cylinder head--which held--and disconnected
most of the bolts which bound the cylinder to its bed.

As the steamer fell off in the hollow of the sea, she rolled, and at the
third roll the half-ton of metal toppled over, crashed down through the
bottom of the ship, and sought the company of the screw. She was a
compartmentless steamer, and in half an hour had followed, leaving her
crew afloat in boats and on life-rafts. Scotty found himself in the boat
with the captain, and wisely anticipating rebuke, had brought his
shovel. The captain glared unspeakable things at him.

"It'll do ye no good the noo, cappen," said Scotty, anticipating the
captain's outburst. "And if you, or a man o' your crew, lay the weight
o' your finger upon me, I'll brain ye wi' my staff of office"--he
elevated the shovel. "I warned ye in time; ye should ha' heeded me."

"Put down your shovel, and take an oar," commanded the captain. "I'd
shoot you dead if it wasn't for the law. But you'll get out o' this
boat, onto the first craft we meet--bound in or bound out."

"It'll be bound out, cappen," said Scotty, gravely. "Ha' no fear o'
that."

It was an Italian bark, and as Scotty had predicted, she was bound
out--to Rio Janeir