It was my cabin-boy, Jock Drew, whom I had rescued from a life of degradation, if not ultimate infamy, in his native village. His father, the local chimney-sweep, a man of vigorous but small physique, had succumbed to the fate of so many of his trade, and swept his throat hourly with the fiercest of whiskey. His mother, a brave, strong little peasant girl, had died early of the effort to master this thirsty piece of humanity that had been tied to her, and his vice. The boy had the maternal lines in his nature, strong will, great courage, and fiery passion. It stirred my pity to see him struggle with such a mean destiny, doubtless to sink hopelessly into the ditch. He had been shielding himself from the temptation that his drunken father set before him by living in a world of penny romance. His imagination was strung to its highest pitch by the gory pages of his hard-won treasures. When he heard of my proposed expedition to the other side of the world, he came and pleaded for even the most menial position on board the _Daydream_. I was only too eager to rescue him from the hideous fate before him, and engaged him as cabin-boy. After he came on board, some of the men were inclined to patronise him, and, when he resisted their approaches and grew sulky, to apply a rope’s end to him. I had to stand between him and them, even though I saw that in the end he would have the best of the quarrel; for he was strong of build and violent in temper, and only controlled himself, I could see, that he might have the surer and more complete revenge. He was a solitary, musing boy, and I thought to draw him from his solitude by interesting him in scientific and philosophical books; but he returned with the greater gusto to his penny series of lives of the great pirates, robbers, warriors, and conquerors. The only section of the _Daydream’s_ library which could seduce him from his loved studies was that containing history and adventures. The crew, as was natural, held the studious little recluse too cheap; and occasionally felt the sting of his tongue when they bantered him; but his melodramatic manners and attitude, copied from the coloured representations of his heroes in his favourite series, laid him open again to their laughter and scorn. His mind was unwholesome with brooding over gory achievements and tremendous ambitions. He often uttered absurd boasts and gave himself airs that were incongruous with his minute figure and menial position, and Jock Drew ceased to be the butt of the ship only when I was present; but he never ceased to read and meditate. The laughter of his shipmates drove him more and more into his books and into himself. Later on in the voyage he extended his reading to books on naval architecture and the management of the steam-engine, and at last would spend hours assisting the engineer below. He came to know every part of the machinery and every secret of its construction and management. Indeed, the chief engineer