“Well, I did have a hard time. We lost our ship in Desolation Channel, and were forced to take to an iceberg. If we had had an overland machine like your Electric Scorcher, we could have easily crossed that ice barrier and set foot upon the new continent, the most wonderful part of the globe. But as it was we were carried north into Cape Horn waters on the berg and finally picked up by an Argentine vessel.” Frank looked interested. “Then you really believe that there is an inhabited and undiscovered continent beyond that ice barrier?” he asked. “Why, I have old Jack Wendel’s word for it.” “A sailor’s word is good except when connected with a story. The telling of a yarn is ample license for stretching the imagination.” “Very good,” rejoined Randall, “but old Jack has given his davy on it, and all sorts of oaths. Oh, I firmly believe him.” “I would much like to hear his story,” said Frank. “You would?” asked Randall, eagerly. “Yes.” “Then you shall. I brought him here to-day for that purpose. He is just outside the door. I will call him.” Randall opened the office door and called: “Wendel, come in here!” The next moment there appeared in the doorway the figure of a sailor of the old-time type, who spliced the mainbrace and made sennit in the forecastle in the palmy days of the “tea wagons” and seventy-four gun frigates. Jack Wendel pulled his foretop respectfully before Frank, and said: “With submission, sir, just come aboard, and at your service!” “Glad to meet you, sir!” said Frank, warmly. “Sit down. My friend here tells me that you have a wonderful yarn to tell.” Wendel shot a shrewd glance at Frank, then said: “It is not a yarn, skipper. It is a true story, on my honor!” “Very good,” said Frank. “I should be glad to have you repeat it to me.” “And you, sir?” Wendel looked at Randall, who said: “Certainly, Jack: fire away.” The old salt clasped his hands over his knees and began: “It was in ’53, and I went out from Baltimore in the Mary Luce. Captain Barnaby, for Peru. There never was a stauncher ship, mates, nor the Luce. She stood up like a church in a running gale, and it was no light storm that put her under the rollers. “Well, we were forty-three souls aboard—crew, officers, and a few passengers. We had a lucky voyage all the way across the Equator and down the coast until we struck ther Horn seas. Then there was the Old Harry to pay. “We hit into a south storm, and for four days we were unable to tell where we were. The seas came aboard like avalanches and cleared the deck to the masts fore and aft. That was a leetle the toughest trip I ever had. And I haven’t forgotten it. “Well, the way the wind did howl and the sea run! When at length the sun shone long enough to take an observation our skipper swore that we were south of the Antarctic Circle.