ly over the surface of the sea,
told the negro that he was alone,--alone with the little Lalee,--alone
in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean,--afloat upon a few sticks,--without
a morsel of food to eat, without a drop of water to drink!

It was a terrible situation,--sufficient to produce despair even in the
stoutest heart.

But Snowball was not one of the despairing sort. He had been too often
in peril of life--both by sea and land--to be unnerved even in that
dread hour; and instead of permitting his spirits to become prostrated,
he bethought him of how he might make the best of the circumstances by
which he was surrounded.

An object that came under his eye, just as the day began to break,
kindled within him a faint gleam of hope, and urged to making an effort
for the salvation of himself and his helpless companion. This object
was a small keg, or beaker, which chanced to be floating near him, and
which, from some mark upon it, Snowball recognised. He knew that it had
been standing in a corner of the caboose, previous to the blowing up of
the bark; and, moreover, that it contained several gallons of fresh
water, which he had himself surreptitiously abstracted from the common
stock, previous to the time that the slaver's crew had agreed to being
put upon rations.

It was but the work of a minute to secure this keg, and attach it by a
strong cord to the piece of timber on which the ex-cook was seated
astride.

But for this unexpected supply of water Snowball might probably have
yielded to despair. Without water to drink he could not have reckoned
on a long lease of life,--either for himself or his _protege_. So
opportunely had the keg come before his eyes as to seem a Providential
interference; and the belief or fancy that it was so stimulated him to a
further search among the fragments of the shattered ship.

There were many queer things around him,--like himself bobbing about
upon the tiny waves. One, however, soon monopolised his attention; and
that was a barrel of somewhat flimsy structure, and about the size of
those usually employed for carrying flour. Snowball recognised it also
as an old acquaintance in the store-room, and knew that it was filled
with the best kind of biscuit,--a private stock belonging to the
captain.

Its contents could not fail to be saturated with salt-water, for the
barrel was not water-tight; but the ex-cook could dry them in the sun,
and render them, if not palatable, at le