dog gave warning with a bark--on the sea. I ventured to ask my
informant if the animal stood the dog watch, but the question did not
receive a definite answer.

What a wonderful thing is the science of navigation. One measures the
sun's height at meridian; looks at a chronometer; consults a book of
mystical figures; makes a little slate work like a school-boy's
problem; and he knows his position at sea. Twelve o'clock, if there be
neither fog nor cloud, is the most important hour of a nautical day. A
few minutes before noon the captain is on deck with his quadrant. The
first officer is similarly provided, as he is supposed to keep a log
and practice-book of his own. Ambitious students of navigation are
sure to appear at that time. On the Wright we turned out four
instruments, with twice as many hands to hold them. A minute before
twelve, _conticuere omnes_.

"Eight bells."

"Eight bells, sir."

The four instruments are briefly fixed on the sun and the horizon, the
readings of the scale are noted, and the quartette descend to the
practice of mathematics. A few minutes later we have the result.

"Latitude 52° 8' North, Longitude 161° 14' East. Distance in last
twenty-four hours two hundred forty-six miles."

The chart is unrolled, and a few measurements with dividers, rule and
pencil, end in the registry of our exact position. Unlike the
countryman on Broadway or a doubting politician the day before