creature is imbued with certain habits and propensities for a good
purpose. I do not hold that anything happens by chance, or that the
albatross is unworthy of being treated with humanity, because it acts in
what you call a savage way. You will pardon me for being thus
plain-spoken, gentlemen; and now Mr Holt has shown his skill by
shooting one of those poor birds, I will ask you to favour me by not
attempting to kill any more."

Though not over well pleased at the interference of the commander, the
young officers, feeling that his rebuke was just, discharged their
rifles in the air, and did not again produce them during the voyage.

Willy Dicey and Peter Patch had been on the poop when these remarks had
been made. "I say, Dicey, do you suppose that the commander really
believes harm will come to the ship because Ensign Holt killed the
albatross?" asked Peter, as they took a turn together on the port side
of the quarterdeck.

"I should think not," answered Willy. "I do not see what the one thing
has to do with the other."

"The sailors say, however, that it is very unlucky to kill an
albatross," observed Peter. "They fancy that the souls of people who
die at sea fly about in the bodies of albatrosses, I suppose, or
something of that sort--I am not quite certain; and for my part I wish
that Ensign Holt had been less free with his rifle. I have always
thought him a donkey, and donkeys do a good deal of mischief sometimes."

"I will ask Harry Shafto what he thinks about it," said Willy. "I have
read a poem about a man who shot an albatross, and all the people died
on board, and the ship went floating about till the masts and sails
rotted, and he alone remained alive."

"I suppose he lived on the ship's stores then," observed Peter. "He
would have had plenty to eat, as there was no one to share the grub with
him; but I should not like to have been in his skin. Did he ever get to
shore, or how did people come to know it?"

"I think the old hulk reached the land after a good many years," said
Willy; "but I am not quite certain about that."

"He must have had a terrible life of it, all alone by himself," said
Peter. "I should like to hear more of the story; but, I say, Dicey, are
you certain that it is true?"

"No, I rather think it is a poet's fancy, for the story is written in
verse," answered Willy.

"Well! that's some comfort," observed Peter; "because, you see, if the
same thing was to happen to us,