2 Idle Days in Patagonia. 



eighty years old, was lying in his cabin sick unto 

 death, for, as a fact, he died not many days after 

 our mishap ; our one mate was asleep, leaving 

 only the men to navigate the steamer on that 

 perilous coast, and in the darkest hour of a tem- 

 pestuous night. 



I was just dropping into a doze when a succes- 

 sion of bumps, accompanied by strange grating 

 and grinding noises, and shuddering motions of the 

 ship, caused me to start up again and rush to the 

 cabin door. The night was still black and starless, 

 with wind and rain, but for acres round us the sea 

 was whiter than milk, I did not step out ; close 

 to me, half-way between my cabin door and the 

 bulwarks, where our only boat was fastened, three 

 of the sailors were standing together talking in low 

 tones. " We are lost," I heard one say ; and 

 another answer, "Ay, lost for ever!" Just then 

 the mate, roused from sleep, came running to 

 them. " Good God, what have you done with the 

 steamer!" he exclaimed sharply; then, dropping 

 his voice, he added, " Lower the boat quick! " 



I crept out and stood, unseen by them in the 

 obscurity, within five feet of the group. Not a 

 thought of the dastardly character of the act they 

 were about to engage in for it was their intention 

 to save themselves and leave us to our fate 

 entered my mind at the time. My only thought 

 was that at the last moment, when they would be 

 unable to prevent it except by knocking me sense- 

 less, I would spring with them into the boat and 



