ngaged, "it may be well to put some medicines on board, for poor
Samson will--"

"Ay, ay, do so, lad," said the captain, interrupting; "I've been
thinkin' o' that, an' you may as well rig up some sort o' couch for the
poor fellow in the long-boat, for I mean to take him along wi' myself."

"Are you so sure, then, that there is no chance of our getting her off?"

"Quite sure. Look there." He pointed, as he spoke, to the horizon to
windward, where a line of cloud rested on the sea. "That'll not be long
o' comin' here. It won't blow very hard, but it'll be hard enough to
smash the old _Walrus_ to bits. If you've got any valooables aboard
that you'd rather not lose, you'd better stuff 'em in your pockets now.
When things come to the wust mind your helm, an' look out as I used to
say to my missus--"

He stopped abruptly and turned away. Evidently the thought of the
"missus" was too much for him just then.

Charlie Brooke hurried off to visit the sick man, and prepare him for
the sad change in his position that had now become unavoidable. But
another visitor had been to see the invalid before him. Entering the
berth softly, and with a quiet look, so as not to agitate the patient
needlessly, he found to his regret, though not surprise, that poor Fred
Samson was dead. There was a smile on the pale face, which was turned
towards the port window, as if the dying man had been taking a last look
of the sea and sky when Death laid a hand gently on his brow and
smoothed away the wrinkles of suffering and care. A letter from his
mother, held tightly in one hand and pressed upon his breast told
eloquently what was the subject of his last thoughts.

Charlie cut a lock of hair from the sailor's brow with his clasp-knife,
and, taking the letter gently from the dead hand, wrapped it therein.

"There's no time to bury him now. His berth must be the poor fellow's
coffin," said Captain Stride, when the death was reported to him. "The
swell o' the coming squall has reached us already. Look alive wi' the
boats, men!"

By that time the rising swell was in truth lifting the vessel every few
seconds and letting her down with a soft thud on the coral reef. It
soon became evident to every one on board that the _Walrus_ had not many
hours to live--perhaps not many minutes--for the squall to which the
Captain had referred was rapidly bearing down, and each successive thud
became more violent than the previous one. Knowing their