No homeward-bound craft reported having seen or spoken with the good ship _Bon Accord_, of Aberdeen; no message concerning her came from the antipodes; and, to torture the minds of our friends at home, the newspapers circulated all kinds of rumours--that bits of wreck had been seen, that we had among our cargo thirty tons of gunpowder, together with 'no end' of petroleum and turpentine, commodities certainly calculated to produce the direst effects if ignited. Month after month rolled on, and not even the most slender tidings came of the beautiful ship, and apprehension of a terrible fate deepened into certainty, in the loving hearts of all who had friends on board. Meanwhile, where were we? In about the 50th degree of southern latitude we had for weeks pleasant gales and prosperous weather, so that we scarcely required to lift tack or sheet, but bore on merrily. Joe Rudderford and his newly-recovered brother Willie were inseparable, and the memory of little Charlie Newcome often came back to me sadly, especially in the night-watches, which he and I had so often shared together, for the ship and her surroundings were all the same in many respects as when he sailed in her. But we had not been long at sea before we discovered that our new captain was a bad seaman and a bully. Every order was given with an oath. Myself and the other apprentices he called 'young whelps,' and even respectable old Joe Rudderford was often greeted with taunts which he received in silence, remembering 'the least said, the soonest mended.' 'He is a coward,' said Joe to me one day. 'What makes you think so?' I asked. 'Because he is a tyrant, and tyrants are always cowards. We'll never have a captain again so good as brave old Archibald.' In that latitude a curious incident occurred to us. On a fine morning, when running on a splendid breeze, with our port tacks on board and royals and top-gallants set, Willie Rudderford, who had the watch, reported a sail on the weather-bow--a large ship, full-rigged, with most of her canvas set, but all in confusion, and some of it thrown slack. Her top-hamper suggested perfect disorder, and not a soul was to be seen on board, or responded to our hailing, after we edged close down to her. We hove to, threw the mainyard in the wind, and Joe Rudderford, the first mate, and two hands, of whom I was one, boarded her in the dingy. I shall never forget the nervous, anxious, exciting and yet eerie emotions felt, as we clambered up the side of that silent ship.