And now, gentle reader, you must accompany me to a very different part
of the globe, and see what is going on there.

The ship Pacific had been refitted and put in sailing order at Bahia,
and was now on her course for the Straits of Magellan. On reaching the
latitude of the straits strong adverse winds set in, and gale succeeded
gale until the sea became lashed into a tempest. The weather, too, was
biting cold, and the crew suffered intensely. Not a gleam of sun had
been seen for three weeks, and the ship's progress had to be worked by
dead reckoning.

Morning after morning the sturdy old captain would come on deck, thrust
his hands deep into the pockets of his pea-jacket, and look intently
over the wild watery scene. Then he would shake his head despondingly.
"Never caught it this way afore," he would say, addressing the officer
of the watch. "Never caught it this way afore. Somebody's brought bad
luck aboard, or we should'nt have such weather as this." Then he would
disappear into the cabin and ponder over his chart, trying to work out
the ship's position. But a strong current and the high wind, both
setting in one direction, had carried him far beyond his reckoning, and
into the vicinity of the Faulkland Islands.

All the light spars had been sent down, and for fifteen days the ship
had labored in the sea under close-reefed topsails and jib, trying to
make weather, but without gaining a mile.

On the sixteenth day the weather cleared up a little and the sun came
out, and an observation was got, which showed that the ship had been
carried into the vicinity before described. For once the sturdy old