ne great
hardships, and so many more have never lived to tell what they have
suffered, that it's not very likely that I should have known that one
man you speak of, out of so many."

"Oh! but it's all in a book which I have read. I could tell you all
about it--and so I will when the ship is quiet again; but now I wish you
would help me down below, for I promised mamma not to stay up long."

"Then always keep your promise like a good lad," replied the old man;
"now give me your hand, and I'll answer for it that we will fetch the
hatchway without a tumble; and when the weather is fine again, I'll tell
you how I was wrecked, and you shall tell me all about Robinson Crusoe."

Having seen William safe to the cabin door, the old seaman returned to
the deck, for it was his watch.

Masterman Ready, for such was his name, had been more than fifty years
at sea, having been bound apprentice to a collier which sailed from
South Shields, when he was only ten years old. His face was browned
from long exposure, and there were deep furrows on his cheeks, but he
was still a hale and active man. He had served many years on board of a
man-of-war, and had been in every climate: he had many strange stories
to tell, and he might be believed even when his stories were strange,
for he would not tell an untruth. He could navigate a vessel, and, of
course, he could read and write. The name of Ready was very well suited
to him, for he was seldom at a loss; and in cases of difficulty and
danger, the captain would not hesitate to ask his opinion, and
frequently take his advice. He was second mate of the vessel.

The _Pacific_ was, as we have observed, a very fine ship, and well able
to contend with the most violent storm. She was of more than four
hundred tons burthen, and was then making a passage out to New South
Wales, with a valuable cargo of English hardware, cutlery, and other
manufactures. The captain was a good navigator and seaman, and moreover
a good man, of a cheerful, happy disposition, always making the best of
everything, and when accidents did happen, always more inclined to laugh
than to look grave. His name was Osborn. The first mate, whose name
was Mackintosh, was a Scotsman, rough and ill-tempered, but paying
strict attention to his duty--a man that Captain Osborn could trust, but
whom he did not like.

Ready we have already spoken of, and it will not be necessary to say
anything about the seamen on board, except