for this trip," groaned Whistler, "for this means go ashore--
weeks in hospital--wages stopped, and wife and chicks starving."

"Never a bit, mate," said Dick; "didn't you know that the noo
mission-ship does hospital work afloat and that they'll keep you aboard
of her, and lend us one o' their hands till you're fit for work again?"

Whether poor Whistler believed, or understood, or was comforted by this
we cannot say, for he made no reply and appeared to be almost overcome
with pain. On reaching the _Dolphin_ a signal of distress was made to
the floating hospital, which at once bore down to them. The injured man
was transferred to it, and there, in the pleasant airy cabin, Black
Whistler made acquaintance with men who were anxious to cure his soul as
well as his body. Up to this time he had resolutely declined to visit
the mission-ships, but now, when a skilled medical man tenderly dressed
his terrible wounds and a sympathetic skipper led him to a berth and
supplied him with some warm coffee, telling him that he would be free to
remain there without charge as long as was needed, and that meanwhile
one of the mission hands would take his place in the _Dolphin_ till he
was able to resume work, his opinion of mission-ships and work underwent
modification, and he began to think that mission crews were not such a
bad lot after all.

Meanwhile Skipper Greely, leaving his man in the _Queen Victoria_,
returned to his smack accompanied by George King, the new hand.

King's position was by no means an enviable one, for he found himself
thus suddenly in the midst of a set of men who had no sympathy with him
in religious matters, and whose ordinary habits and conversation
rendered remonstrance almost unavoidable. Unwilling to render himself
obnoxious at first, the man resolved to try the effect of music on his
new shipmates. He happened to possess a beautiful tenor voice, and the
first night--a calm bright one--while taking his turn at the helm, he
sang in a soft sweet voice one after another of those hymns which Mr
Sankey has rendered so popular. He began with "Come to the Saviour,
make no delay," and the first effect on his mates, most of whom were
below, was to arouse a feeling of contempt. But they could not resist
the sweetness of the voice. In a few minutes they were perfectly
silent, and listening with a species of fascination--each being wafted,
both by words and music, to scenes on shore and to times when his sp