a happy cargo of humanity which the rescuing boat bore with her
as the sun peeped over the hills. Many of the passengers were but
half dressed, all were exhausted and hungry, each one had lost
something in the catastrophe. The men were silent, the women
hysterical, the children fretful.

Murray O'Neil had recovered sufficiently to go among them with
the same warm smile which had made him friends from the first. In
the depths of his cool gray eyes was a sparkle which showed his
unquenchable Celtic spirit, and before long smiles answered his
smiles, jokes rose to meet his pleasantries.

It was his turn now to comfort Captain Johnny Brennan, who had
yielded to the blackest despair, once his responsibility was
over.

"She was a fine ship, Murray," the master lamented, staring with
tragic eyes at the Nebraska's spars.

"She was a tin washtub, and rusted like a sieve," jeered O'Neil.

"But think of me losing her on a still night!"

"I'm not sure yet that it wasn't a jellyfish that swam through
her."

"Humph! I suppose her cargo will be a total loss. Two hundred
thousand dollars--"

"Insured for three hundred, no doubt. I'll warrant the company