out of my stateroom, and found
the main cabin incarnadined with the glow of the last scene of a
pantomime, I stopped dead: "What is this?" said I. "This ship is on
fire, I see that; but why a pantomime?" And I stood and reasoned the
point, until my head was so muddled with the fumes that I could not find
the companion. A few seconds later, the captain had to enter crawling on
his belly, and took days to recover (if he has recovered) from the
fumes. By singular good fortune, we got the hose down in time and saved
the ship, but Lloyd lost most of his clothes and a great part of our
photographs was destroyed. Fanny saw the native sailors tossing
overboard a blazing trunk; she stopped them in time, and behold, it
contained my manuscripts. Thereafter we had three (or two) days fine
weather: then got into a gale of wind, with rain and a vexatious sea. As
we drew into our anchorage in a bight of Savage Island, a man ashore
told me afterwards the sight of the _Janet Nicoll_ made him sick; and
indeed it was rough play, though nothing to the night before. All
through this gale I worked four to six hours per diem spearing the
ink-bottle like a flying fish, and holding my papers together as I
might. For, of all things, what I was at was history--the Samoan
business--and I had to turn from one to another of these piles of
manuscript notes, and from one page to another in each, until I should
have found employment for the hands of Briareus. All the same, this
history is a godsend for a voyage; I can put in time, getting events
co-ordinated and the narrative distributed, when my much-heaving
numskull would be incapable of finish or fine style. At Savage we met
the missionary barque _John Williams_. I tell you it was a great day for
Savage Island: the path up the cliffs was crowded with gay islandresses
(I like that feminine plural) who wrapped me in their embraces, and
picked my pockets of all my tobacco, with a manner which a touch would
have made revolting, but as it was, was simply charming, like the Golden
Age. One pretty, little, stalwart minx, with a red flower behind her
ear, had searched me with extraordinary zeal; and when, soon after, I
missed my matches, I accused her (she still following us) of being the
thief. After some delay, and with a subtle smile, she produced the box,
gave me _one match_, and put the rest away again. Too tired to add
more.--Your most affectionate

R. L. S.

TO E. L. BURLINGAME

T