A boat was lowered; four men and myself entered her. We pulled alongside the wallowing little brig, and I clambered aboard. It was like hearkening to the sound of a swaying cradle. She creaked in every pore, creaked from masthead to jib boom end, from the eyes to the taffrail. She was full of wood and rolled with deadly lunges. The three men continued to sit upon the timber that was piled round about the galley chimney. They turned their eyes upon me when I stepped on board, but seemed incapable of taking more exercise than that. I made my way over the deck cargo to where the man in the yellow coat was standing, and as I went I observed that the end of the line which was rove through the block attached to the gaff led through another block, secured near one of the pumps and fastened--that is to say, the end of the line was fastened--to the brake or handle of the pump, which was frequently and violently jerked, causing water to gush forth, but intermittently and spasmodically. “What is wrong with you?” said I, approaching the man who awaited me instead of advancing to receive me, as though he had some particular reason in desiring to converse with me aft. “Everything is wrong,” he answered, in a patient, melancholy voice. “First of all, will ye tell me what’s to-day?” “Do you mean the day of the week or the day of the month?” “Both,” he answered. Not a little astonished by this question, I supplied him with the information he desired. “Thought as much,” said he, mildly jerking his fist. “Two days wrong. Yesterday was my birthday and a’ never knew it.” “Did you say that you are bound to the Clyde?” “That’s where this cargo’s consigned to,” he answered, “and of course us men go along with it.” “What are you doing down in these latitudes?” He gazed round the sea with a lost-my-way expression of eye, and replied: “I don’t know where we are.” “The Canary Islands bear about thirty leagues east-southeast,” said I. He stared at the horizon as though, by looking hard, he would see the Canary Islands. “Pray, what are you?” said I, looking at him and then glancing at his little ship and the three men who sat disconsolately clasping their knees on top of the deck-load. “I am the second mate and carpenter.” “Where’s your captain?” “Gone blind and mad,” he answered. “And your mate?”