e wasn't married, but Welsh John, who knew him best, said he had
spoken of his mother in Skye; and the Old Man kept a few letters and
his watch that he might have something besides his money to send to
Duncan's relatives.

As if Duncan had paid our toll for rounding the storm-scarred Cape, the
weather cleared and winds set fair to us after that last dread night of
storm. Under a press of canvas we put her head to the norrard, and
soon left the Horn and the 'Roaring Forties' astern.

* * * * *

One night, in the middle watch, when we had nearly run out the
south-east trades, I went forward, looking for someone to talk to, or
anything to relieve the tedium of my two hours on the lee side of the
poop. I found Welsh John sitting on the main-hatch and disposed to
yarn. He had been the most intimate with Duncan, harkening to his
queer tales of the fairies in Knoidart when we others would scoff, and
naturally the talk came round to our lost shipmate.

It was bright moonlight, and the shadow of sails and rigging was cast
over the deck. Near us, in the lee of the house, some sleepers lay
stretched. The Mate stepped drowsily fore and aft the poop, now and
then squinting up at the royals.

"I wonder what brought Duncan to a windjammer," I said. "He was too
old to be starting the sea, an' there were plenty of jobs on the river
for a well-doin' man like him."

Welsh John spat carefully on the deck, and, after looking round, said,
"Tuncan was here, indeed, because he thought the police would bother
him. He told me he wass in a small steamboat that runs from Loch Fyne
to the Clyde, an' the skipper was a man from Killigan or Kalligan, near
Tuncan's place."

"Kyle-akin," I suggested.

"That iss it, Kyle-akin; an' he was very far in drink. They started
from Inverary for the river, and it wass plowin' strong from the
south-east, an' the small boat wass makin' very bad weather, indeed.
The skipper wass very trunk, an' Tuncan, who wass steerin', said they
should put in to shelter for the night. But the skipper wass
quarrelsome, an' called Tuncan a coward an' a nameless man from Skye,
an' they came to plows. Tuncan let go the tiller, an' the small boat
came broadside on, and shipped a big sea, an' when Tuncan got to the
tiller an' put it up, the skipper was gone. They never saw him, so
they came on to the Clyde, where Tuncan left the poat. An' they were
askin' questions from him, an' Tuncan was