occurred. The owner and his friend Chater were in their berths asleep, when suddenly he discovered that the vessel was making no headway. They had, in fact, run upon the dangerous shoal without being aware of it. A strong sea was running with a stiff breeze, and although his seamanship was poor, he was capable enough to recognize at once that they were in a very perilous position.
"Very fortunate it wasn't more serious, sir," he added, after telling me his story, which I wrote at his dictation for the ultimate benefit of the Board of Trade.
"Didn't you send up signals of distress?" I Inquired.
"No, sir—never thought of it."
"And yet you knew that you might be lost?" I remarked with recurring suspicion.
The canny Scot, whose name was Macintosh, hesitated a few moments, then answered—
"Well, sir, you see the fishing-boat had sighted us, and we saw her turning back to port to fetch help."
His excuse was a neat one. Probably it was his neglect to make signals of distress that had aroused the suspicions of the Captain of the Port. From first to last the story of the master of the Lola was, I considered, a very unsatisfactory one.
"How long have you been in Mr. Hornby's service?" I inquired.
"Six months, sir," was the man's reply. "Before he engaged me, I was with the Wilsons, of Hull, running up the Baltic."
