Jack knew less of the world, if possible, than most of his shipmates, and not being much wiser, his wealth very rapidly disappeared. How it went he could scarcely tell. He had just enough left to pay for an outfit, when he found himself pressed on board the _Tribune_ sloop of war, fitting out for the East Indies. This time, greatly to his sorrow, he was parted from Sambo, who had got his old rating as cook on board a large frigate. Away sailed the _Tribune_ for the lands of pearls and pagodas, diamonds and marble temples, elephants and ivory palaces, scorching suns and wealth unbounded; but what cared Jack whether he went to the tropics or the poles, provided he had a stout ship under his foot and trusty companions by his side. India was reached, and over those bright calm seas the frigate glided, visiting many a port, where many a strange scene was beheld, and where communication was opened with many strange people. The _Tribune_ was continuing her voyage towards the rising sun--shortening each day in her progress--when, as she was sailing by some spice-bearing isle, a soft breeze wafting the sweet odours of many a fragrant flower from off the land, a change came over the smiling face of the blue deep,--sudden-- terrific--like the work of magic. A loud, tremendous roar was heard, with a milling, hurtling, crashing sound. The tall palm-trees bent low before the blast, torn up by the roots, with roofs of houses, entire cottages, and whole crops, the produce of rich lands and days of wearying toil: they were swept like chaff before it. All hands were called, quick aloft they flew to shorten sail, tacks, sheets, and halliards quickly were let go. The topsail yards were speedily lowered, but the gale was down upon them before the sails could be handed. Wildly they fluttered, bursting all restraint, and then flew in tattered shreds from the bolt-ropes. Not a sail remained entire. Fluttering wildly in the gale the strips of canvas twisted and turned, flapping loudly, driving the hardy seamen from the yards, till it had formed thick, folds and knots which no human power could untie. Not till then could it be cut from the yards. On, on flew the ship, what could stop her now? The fierce typhoon howled and whistled through the rigging. A yard parted; away it was carried; two brave men were on it. Both together were hurled into the seething, hissing, foaming water, through which the ship was madly rushing. Could any human aid avail them? Alas! the cry was heard of a strong swimmer in his agony. He turned his longing eyes towards the ship fast leaving him, as still with giant strength he struggled on, cleaving the yielding waters with his brawny arms, his head lifted above the white foam thrown from her eddying wake, in the vain hope--he knows it vain--to overtake her. Yet he had never given in throughout his life's combat with the world, and would not now till remorseless death had claimed him as his own. His shipmates grazed