thin', lad, ha! ha! Oh yes, human flesh is up, Ned; sailors is riz,
an' we've been sold;--we have--uncommon!"

Hereupon the captain roared again; but there was a slight peculiarity in
the tone, that indicated a strong infusion of rage with the seeming
merriment.

"They're all gone--every man, Jack," said Jones, with a face of deep
solemnity, as he stood looking at the captain.

"So they are, the blackguards; an' that without biddin' us good mornin',
bad luck to them," added O'Neil.

At first, Ned Sinton felt little disposed to take a comic view of the
affair, and urged the captain strongly to take the lightest boat and set
off in pursuit; but the latter objected to this.

"It's of no use," he said, "the ship can't be repaired here without
heavy expense; so, as I don't mean to go to sea again for some time, the
desertion of the men matters little after all."

"Not go to sea again!" exclaimed Ned, in surprise. "What, then, do you
mean to do?"

"That's more than I can tell. I must see first how the cargo is to be
disposed of; after that, it will be time enough to concoct plans for the
future. It is quite clear that the tide of luck is out about as far as
it can go just now; perhaps it may turn soon."

"No doubt of it, captain," cried his young _protege_ with a degree of
energy that shewed he had made up his mind as to what _his_ course
should be, in the event of things coming to the worst. "I'll go down
and put on a few more articles of clothing, and then we'll have a talk
over matters."

The "talk," which was held over the breakfast-table in the cabin,
resulted in the captain resolving to go ashore, and call on a Scotch
merchant, named Thompson, to whom he had a letter of introduction.
Half-an-hour later this resolve was carried out. Jones rowed them
ashore in the smallest boat they had, and sculled back to the ship,
leaving O'Neil with them to assist in carrying up two boxes which were
consigned to Mr Thompson.

The quay on which they stood was crowded with men of all nations, whose
excited looks, and tones, and "go-ahead" movements, testified to the
high-pressure speed with which business in San Francisco was transacted.

"It's more nor I can do to carry them two boxes at wance," said Larry
O'Neil, regarding them with a puzzled look, "an' sorra a porter do I see
nowhere."

As he spoke, a tall, gentlemanly-looking young man, in a red-flannel
shirt, round-crowned wide-awake, long boots, and corduroys,