solation to her captain that the shores of the great continent were
visible on his lee, because a tremendous surf roared along the whole
line of coast, threatening destruction to any vessel that should venture
to approach, and there was no harbour of refuge nigh.

"She's sinking fast, Mr Seadrift," said the captain to a stout
frank-looking youth of about twenty summers, who leant against the
bulwarks and gazed wistfully at the land; "the carpenter cannot find the
leak, and the rate at which the water is rising shows that she cannot
float long."

"What then do you propose to do?" inquired young Seadrift, with a
troubled expression of countenance.

"Abandon her," replied the captain.

"Well, _you_ may do so, captain, but I shall not forsake my father's
ship as long as she can float. Why not beach her somewhere on the
coast? By so doing we might save part of the cargo, and, at all events,
shall have done the utmost that lay in our power."

"Look at the coast," returned the captain; "where would you beach her?
No doubt there is smooth water inside the reef, but the channels through
it, if there be any here, are so narrow that it would be almost certain
death to make the attempt."

The youth turned away without replying. He was sorely perplexed. Just
before leaving England his father had said to him, "Harold, my boy,
here's your chance for paying a visit to the land you've read and talked
so much about, and wished so often to travel through. I have chartered
a brig, and shall send her out to Zanzibar with a cargo of beads, cotton
cloth, brass wire, and such like: what say you to go as supercargo? Of
course you won't be able to follow in the steps of Livingstone or Mungo
Park, but while the brig is at Zanzibar you will have an opportunity of
running across the channel, the island being only a few miles from the
main, and having a short run up-country to see the niggers, and
perchance have a slap at a hippopotamus. I'll line your pockets, so
that you won't lack the sinews of war, without which travel either at
home or abroad is but sorry work, and I shall only expect you to give a
good account of ship and cargo on your return.--Come, is it fixed?"

Need we say that Harold leaped joyfully at the proposal? And now, here
he was, called on to abandon the `Aurora' to her fate, as we have said,
near the end of a prosperous voyage. No wonder that he was perplexed.

The crew were fully aware of the state of matters.