ere
many a gallant vessel met her fate, and the behaviour of the grand old
tub gave me a positive affection for her, such as I have never felt for
a ship before or since.

There was now a big heap of work for the carpenter, so the skipper
decided to run in for the Cocos or Keeling islands, in order to lay
quietly and refit. We had now only three boats sound, the one smashed
when poor Bamberger died being still unfinished--of course, the repairs
had practically amounted to rebuilding. Therefore we kept away for this
strange assemblage of reefs and islets, arriving off them early the next
day.

They consist of a true "atoll," or basin, whose rim is of coral
reefs, culminating occasionally in sandy islands or cays formed by the
accumulated debris washed up from the reef below, and then clothed upon
with all sorts of plants by the agency of birds and waves.

These islands have lately been so fully described in many different
journals, that I shall not burden the reader with any twice-told tales
about them, but merely chronicle the fact that for a week we lay at
anchor off one of the outlying cays, toiling continuously to get the
vessel again in fighting trim.

At last the overworked carpenter and his crew got through their heavy
task, and the order was given to "man the windlass." Up came the anchor,
and away we went again towards what used to be a noted haunt of the
sperm whale, the Seychelle Archipelego. Before the French, whose flag
flies over these islands, had with their usual short-sighted policy,
clapped on prohibitive port charges, Mahe was a specially favoured place
of call for the whalers. But when whale-ships find that it does not pay
to visit a place, being under no compulsion as regards time, they soon
find other harbours that serve their turn. We, of course, had no need to
visit any port for some time to come, having made such good use of our
opportunities at the Cocos.

We found whales scarce and small, so, although we cruised in this
vicinity for nearly two months, six small cow cachalots were all we were
able to add to our stock, representing less then two hundred barrels
of oil. This was hardly good enough for Captain Slocum. Therefore, we
gradually drew away from this beautiful cluster of islands, and crept
across the Indian Ocean towards the Straits of Malacca. On the way, we
one night encountered that strange phenomenon, a "milk" sea. It was a
lovely night, with scarcely any wind, the stars trying