to be unable to carry off the bag of a thousand dollars in gold, the price of his work." Speaking of tarring without tar reminds me how this difficulty was overcome. Having had a great deal of work, turning in and fitting the rigging, the supply of tar gave out, and when we reached the south-east trades in the Atlantic, and were rolling down to St. Helena, an inspection of the tar-barrel showed it was only fit for a bonfire on the next dark night. How should we make the rigging black and shiny? was the query of thoughts, dreams and discussions in succeeding days and nights. I will confess what I did, but do not recommend the process. Two bundles of rattans were chopped up and consumed in the cook's stove with the draft checked. The ashes were placed in a barrel and pounded fine with an impromptu pestle, then linseed oil and varnish were added, and with this production, well stirred, all the ropes were "tarred" with such good effect that many old sailors admired the black gloss of the rigging as they inspected the vessel at Central Wharf. But using up the paint oil for this, brought about another crisis. How should we paint ship? That was most essential to our good appearance. After many experiments the kerosene oil was selected to serve as the substitute, the sailors' whale oil was appropriated to cabin use, and Jack was invited to illuminate his premises with a slush lamp, a wick floated in beef fat contained in a tin can. So the ship was painted! These are samples of the makeshifts of sea life. The first moonless evening was appointed for the final ending of the tar-barrel. It was sawn in two, the smaller half being chopped up and deposited with the carpenter's chips and shavings in the remaining part. A bit of old rope from the "shakings barrel" suspends it over the side, while the cook with a fire-brand ignites the contents. As the flames gather volume the barrel is dropped into the sea. The sailors spring to the rail or into the rigging to watch it as it emerges from under the ship's counter and is left astern in the wake. For awhile it blazes fiercely and continuously, then it disappears--ah, it's gone! No, the swell hides it. There it is again! Its disappearances and reappearances occur at gradually lengthening intervals till it no longer can be seen from deck. The second mate runs half way up the mizzen-rigging and exclaims, "I see it." Soon he shouts "I can just see it from the topmast cross-trees." Then it is given up, faces are turned from the stern to the bow, for the gaze on shipboard is always forward, seldom backwards, and as the ship presses on into the dark night, we think with subdued feelings of the lost light, and fall to moralizing or musing as the disposition of each inclines him. The south-east trades took us to the line and then the doldrums raged again, but instead of giving a repetition of the miseries of this region I will relate the second mate's yarn about a "Wild Ship."