Capt. W. (spitting out of window). "In latitude 28 degrees; in a flat calm; off a Dutch East Indiaman. The name I have at home on a bit of paper: you shall have it as warranty with the cask. The captain was drunk, and I traded with the mate. I never miss a chance. The mate said nothing of the woman inside. I believe her to be his captain's wife, preserved for burial ashore. This is painful for me to speak about; for I had the worst of the deal, and such is not my reputation. But I allowed I would sell that cask at a profit if I carried it around for a hundred years." Self. "What do you ask?" Capt. W. "Well, I have been enquiring of Mr. '--', your Chief Factor here; and he tells me that your brother, Mr. Obed Lanyon, was with Cook and Vancouver, and knows the coast from Cape Flattery northwards and round by the Aleutians like the palm of his hand. Now it happens I have business up there among the Russian settlements--part trade, part exploring-- I needn't say more, for the United States' Government didn't send me to tell secrets. A man like your brother would be money in my pocket all the way: and at the end of the job I would undertake to deliver him and his wife safely at any American port within reason, with money to take them home like princes, and a trifle over. I'm a square man: and if I weren't, you couldn't be in a worse fix than you are."