ould otherwise have
knocked us to pieces. Thus we all got on board the little craft, and
were carried safely on shore. The same fishing-boat had before taken
off our companions from the rock, and they had then sent her to our
assistance.

"Now you will like to know how the accident happened without any blame
to the captain, or any one on board? The truth was that we had, as part
of the cargo, a quantity of iron. This had set all our compasses wrong,
making us twenty or thirty miles out of our course at least. I've often
since thought, Mr Fairman, if we hadn't a true compass to steer by like
the Bible, which of us would escape the rocks which lie in our course in
life; and it's my opinion that those who do steer by it never get far
wrong."

The young travellers thanked old Tom very much for his interesting
narrative, and Cousin Giles spun a long yarn with him afterwards about
old times. Cousin Giles had also a talk with each of the crew, and gave
them some books and tracts, for which they were very thankful.

All Friday night the lead was kept going, for the master judged that
they ought to have been in the very centre of the Skaggerack passage,
which is very deep; but it told him that the ship was still in shallow
water. The very same circumstance which caused the loss of the
_Victoria_ had happened to them. Their compasses, attracted by some of
the iron in the ship, were not pointing truly. They had reason to be
thankful that the error was discovered in time, or they might have
suffered the same disasters they had lately heard described. When the
fog cleared away, they found that they were off the coast of Jutland,
twenty miles south of where they should have been. In the afternoon
they sighted the Scaw lighthouse, built on a sandy point, with sand
hills, and a ruined church on them--no very interesting object, except
as being the first part they saw of Denmark.

Sunday morning, at five o'clock, the steward called to them to say that
they were close to Elsinore. They hurried on deck, and found that they
were passing that far-famed castle, where the ghost of Hamlet's father
was wont to walk and tell its tale of horrors to any one it might chance
to meet and had time to stop and listen to it. Seen in the bright glow
of the morning sun, the castle had a pleasing, cheerful aspect, with
nothing of the dark, gloomy, hobgoblin style of architecture about it,
such as Mrs Radcliffe delighted to describe. It st