“Aboard the brig Eliza, Liverpool, homeward bound; glad to see them eyes open.”      

       “Have I been here long?”      

       “Matter o' ten days.”      

       “Where did you find me?”      

       “Floating in a hen-coop; thought you was a dead 'un.”      

       “Do you know what ship?”      

       “Do we know? No, that's what you've got to tell us!”      

       “I can't,” I sighed, too weak to wag my head upon the pillow.     

       The man went to my cabin door.     

       “Here's a go,” said he; “forgotten the name of his blessed ship, he has. Where's that there paper, Mr. Bowles? There's just a chance it may be the same.”      

       “I've got it, sir.”      

       “Well, fetch it along, and come you in, Mr. Bowles; likely you may think o' somethin'.”      

       A reddish, hook-nosed man, with a jaunty, wicked look, came and smiled upon me in the friendliest fashion; the smell of onions became more than I knew how to endure.     

       “Ever hear of the ship Lady Jermyn?” asked the first corner, winking at the other.     

       I thought very hard, the name did sound familiar; but no, I could not       honestly say that I had beard it before.     

       The captain looked at his mate.     

       “It was a thousand to one,” said he; “still we may as well try him with the other names. Ever heard of Cap'n Harris, mister?”      

       “Not that I know of.”      

       “Of Saunderson-stooard?”      

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