passed through so many extraordinary adventures and not only come out of them unharmed, but a happier and a great deal more fortunate man than he has really any right to be, he may claim the privilege, I think, of saying he knows something about his subject.
And, mind you, I date it all back to that visit to the old home and to my uncle's strange reception of me, for had I not gone down into the country I should never have quarrelled with him, and if I had not quarrelled with him I should not have gone back to the inn in such a dudgeon, and in that case I should probably have left the place without a visit to the bar, never have seen the advertisement, visited Bournemouth, hired the yacht or—but there I must stop. You must work out the rest when you have heard my story.
The morning after my third return to Bournemouth I was up by daybreak, had had my breakfast, and was ready to set off on a cruise across the bay, before the sun was a hand's breadth above the horizon. It was as perfect a morning as any man could wish to see. A faint breeze just blurred the surface of the water, tiny waves danced in the sunshine, and my bark nodded to them as if anxious to be off. The town ashore lay very quiet and peaceful, and so still was the air that the cries of a few white gulls could be heard quite plainly, half a mile or so away. Having hove anchor, we tacked slowly across the bay, passed the pier-head, and steered towards Old Harry Rock and Swanage Bay. My crew was for'ard, and I had possession of the tiller.
As we went about opposite Canford Cliffs, something moving in the water ahead of me attracted my attention. We were too far off to make out exactly what it might be, and it was not until five minutes later, when we were
