eason felt happier than I
had done for months. Oh! if only the writer of that tourist tale of the
South Sea Islands could have guessed what fruit his light-thrown seed
would yield to us and to the world!

I made my inquiries through a London agency which hired out yachts or
sold them to the idle rich. As I expected, there were plenty to be had,
at a price, but wealthy as I was, the figure asked of the buyer of any
suitable craft, staggered me. In the end, however, I chartered one
for six months certain and at so much per month for as long as I liked
afterwards. The owners paid insurance and everything else on condition
that they appointed the captain and first mate, also the engineer, for
this yacht, which was named Star of the South, could steam at about ten
knots as well as sail.

I know nothing about yachts, and therefore shall not attempt to describe
her, further than to say that she was of five hundred and fifty tons
burden, very well constructed, and smart to look at, as well she might
be, seeing that a deceased millionaire from whose executors I hired her
had spent a fortune in building and equipping her in the best possible
style. In all, her crew consisted of thirty-two hands. A peculiarity of
the vessel was that owing to some fancy of the late owner, the passenger
accommodation, which was splendid, lay forward of the bridge, this with
the ship's store-rooms, refrigerating chamber, etc., being almost in the
bows. It was owing to these arrangements, which were unusual, that the
executors found it impossible to sell, and were therefore glad to accept
such an offer as mine in order to save expenses. Perhaps they hoped that
she might go to the bottom, being heavily insured. If so, the Fates did
not disappoint them.

The captain, named Astley, was a jovial person who held every kind of
certificate. He seemed so extraordinarily able at his business that
personally I suspected him of having made mistakes in the course of his
career, not unconnected with the worship of Bacchus. In this I believe
I was right; otherwise a man of such attainments would have been
commanding something bigger than a private yacht. The first mate,
Jacobsen, was a melancholy Dane, a spiritualist who played the
concertina, and seemed to be able to do without sleep. The crew were a
mixed lot, good men for the most part and quite unobjectionable, more
than half of them being Scandinavian. I think that is all I need say
about the Star of the