Before we left the wharf we made the acquaintance of a passenger whom we had seen at the hotel. When we asked him which way he came to Provincetown, he answered that he was cast ashore at Wood End, Saturday night, in the same storm in which the _St. John_ was wrecked. He had been at work as a carpenter in Maine, and took passage for Boston in a schooner laden with lumber. When the storm came up, they endeavored to get into Provincetown harbor. “It was dark and misty,” said he, “and as we were steering for Long Point Light we suddenly saw the land near us,—for our compass was out of order,—varied several degrees [a mariner always casts the blame on his compass],—but there being a mist on shore, we thought it was farther off than it was, and so held on, and we immediately struck on the bar. Says the Captain, ‘We are all lost.’ Says I to the Captain, ‘Now don’t let her strike again this way; head her right on.’ The Captain thought a moment, and then headed her on. The sea washed completely over us, and wellnigh took the breath out of my body. I held on to the running rigging, but I have learned to hold on to the standing rigging the next time.” “Well, were there any drowned?” I asked. “No; we all got safe to a house at Wood End, at midnight, wet to our skins, and half frozen to death.” He had apparently spent the time since playing checkers at the hotel, and was congratulating himself on having beaten a tall fellow-boarder at that game. “The vessel is to be sold at auction to-day,” he added. (We had heard the sound of the crier’s bell which advertised it.) “The Captain is rather down about it, but I tell him to cheer up and he will soon get another vessel.” At that moment the Captain called to him from the wharf. He looked like a man just from the country, with a cap made of a woodchuck’s skin, and now that I had heard a part of his history, he appeared singularly destitute,—a Captain without any vessel, only a greatcoat! and that perhaps a borrowed one! Not even a dog followed him; only his title stuck to him. I also saw one of the crew. They all had caps of the same pattern, and wore a subdued look, in addition to their naturally aquiline features, as if a breaker—a “comber”—had washed over them. As we passed Wood End, we noticed the pile of lumber on the shore which had made the cargo of their vessel.