crew was part of the day's work, to be sure; the part we didn't get
paid for. We saved _the cargo,_ Master! and got salvage!! Hundreds of
pounds, I tell you, divided amongst us by law!!! Ah, those times are
gone. A parcel of sneaks get together, and subscribe to build a
Steam-Tug. When a ship gets on the sands now, out goes the Tug, night
and day alike, and brings her safe into harbour, and takes the bread
out of our mouths. Shameful--that's what I call it--shameful."

The last words of the boatman's lament fell lower, lower, lower on Mr.
Ronald's ears--he lost them altogether--he lost the view of the sea--he
lost the sense of the wind blowing over him. Suddenly, he was roused as
if from a deep sleep. On one side, the man from Broadstairs was shaking
him by the collar. "I say, Master, cheer up; what's come to you?" On
the other side, a compassionate lady was offering her smelling-bottle.
"I am afraid, sir, you have fainted." He struggled to his feet, and
vacantly thanked the lady. The man from Broadstairs--with an eye to
salvage--took charge of the human wreck, and towed him to the nearest
public-house. "A chop and a glass of brandy-and-water," said this good
Samaritan of the nineteenth century. "That's what you want. I'm peckish
myself, and I'll keep you company."

He was perfectly passive in the hands of any one who would take charge
of him; he submitted as if he had been the boatman's dog, and had heard
the whistle.

It could only be truly said that he had come to himself, when there had
been time enough for him to feel the reanimating influence of the food
and drink. Then he got to his feet, and looked with incredulous wonder
at the companion of his meal. The man from Broadstairs opened his
greasy lips, and was silenced by the sudden appearance of a gold coin