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But I will not dwell on the scene. Once during the night I thought of Michael McCrane, and hoped he was even as I was at that moment. If he was, no dog was ever in such a plight!

At last the early dawn struggled through the deadlights.

“At last,” I groaned, “we shall soon be in the Lough!”

“Where are we?” said a plaintive voice from the midst of the heap which for the last few hours had regularly rolled on the top of me whenever we lurched to larboard.

“Off the Isle of Man,” was the reply. “Shouldn’t wonder if we get a bit of a sea going past, too.”

Off the Isle of Man! Only half way, and a bit of a sea expected as we went past!

I closed my eyes, and wished our bank might break before morning! Whether the “bit of sea” came up to expectations or not I know not. I was in no condition to criticise even my own movements. I believe that as time went on I became gradually amalgamated with the larger roiling heap of fellow-sufferers on the floor, and during the last hour or so of our misery rolled in concert with them. But I should be sorry to state positively that it was so.

All I know is that about a hundred years after we had passed the Isle of Man I became suddenly awake to the consciousness that something tremendous had happened. Had we struck in mid-ocean? had the masts above us gone by the board? were we sinking? or what?

On careful reflection I decided we were doing neither, and that the cause of my agitation was that the last wave but one had gone past the ship without breaking over her. And out of the next dozen waves we scrambled over I counted at least five which let us off in a similar manner!

Oh, the rapture of the discovery! I closed my eyes again lest by any chance it should turn out to be a dream.

The next thing I was conscious of was a rough hand on my shoulder and a voice shouting, “Now then, mister, wake up; all ashore except you. Can’t stay on board all day!”

I rubbed my eyes and bounded to my feet.

The Royal Duke was at a standstill in calm water, and the luggage- crane was busy at work overhead.

“Are we there?” I gasped.

“All except you,” said the sailor.

“How long have we been in?”

“Best part of an hour. Got any luggage, mister?”

An hour! Then I had missed my man once more! Was ever luck like mine?

I gathered up my crumpled hat and umbrella, and staggered out of that awful cabin.

“Look here,” said I to the sailor, “did you see the passengers go ashore?”

“I saw the steerage passengers go,” said he; “and a nice-looking lot they was.”

“There was one of the steerage passengers I wanted particularly to see. Did you see one with a portmanteau and hat-box?”

“Plenty of ’em,” was the reply.

“Yes; but his was quite a new hat-box; you couldn’t mistake it,” said I.

“Maybe I saw him. There was one young fellow–“

“Dark?”

“Yes; dark.”

“And tall?”

“Yes; tall enough.”

“Dismal-looking?”

“They were all that.”

“Did you see which way he went?”

“No; but I heard him ask the mate the way to the Northern Counties Railway; so I guess he’s for the Derry line.”

It was a sorry clue; but the only one. I was scarcely awake; and, after my night of tragedy, was hardly in a position to resume the hue and cry. Yet anything was preferable to going back to sea.

So I took a car for the Northern Counties station. For a wonder I was in time for the train, which, I was told, was due to start in an hour’s time.

I spent that hour first of all in washing, then in breakfasting, finally in telegraphing to my manager–