and I want to impress upon Mr Carter the fact that it was his
duty to call me, under the peculiar circumstances, and to allow me to
decide as to the advisability of admitting two boat-loads of strangers
aboard my ship. Please don't do it again, sir."

Whereupon poor Carter promised to be more circumspect in future, and
slunk away with very much the aspect and manner of a beaten dog. I felt
very sorry for the man, for, even admitting that the skipper was right--
as he certainly was--I thought it would have been in very much better
taste if he had taken an opportunity to point out to his subordinate, in
private, the imprudence of which he had been guilty, instead of
administering a reprimand in the presence of a stranger. Apart from
that it appeared to me that there was not very much wrong with the man,
and the question arose in my mind whether, despite the protest that
Carter had thought it necessary to address to me, he might not be to
some extent prejudiced against his skipper. And this feeling was
somewhat strengthened when, as, in compliance with Captain Williams's
request, I gave him an account of our recent adventures, he informed me
that the ship carried a doctor, and at once sent a messenger to that
functionary, informing him that some wounded men had been taken on board
during the night, and requesting him to give them his best attention
forthwith.

As the skipper and I stood talking together, the passengers, who had
learned from the stewards that we had been picked up during the night,
came hurrying up on deck, one after another, full of curiosity to see
the individuals who had joined the ship under such interesting
circumstances; and I was duly introduced to them. To take them in what
appeared to be the recognised order of their social importance, they
were, first, General Sir Thomas Baker, his wife, Lady Hetty Baker, and
his rather elderly daughter, Phoebe, returning to India from furlough;
Mrs Euphemia Jennings, the young wife of an important official, who had
just left her only boy--a lad of five years of age--with friends in
England, for his health's sake, and with her a niece of her husband--a
Miss Flora Duncan, a most lovely girl of about sixteen. Then came Mr
and Mrs Richard Morton, people of some means, who were going to India
to try their fortune at indigo planting, under the auspices of a friend
and former schoolfellow of the husband, and who had sent home glowing
accounts of the great things