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Of the passage across in the Wanderer I need say nothing here except that the sea kindliness of the little craft (the smallest I had ever sailed in) amazed me, while, except for a disaster in the shape of a cook, the general conditions of life on board were most comfortable. After twenty days we arrived at Sydney, Cape Breton, and upon entering the harbour noticed a vessel lying disconsolately apart from the little fleet at anchor there. She was a brig belonging to Workington, exactly like an exaggerated barge as to her hull, and bearing all over unmistakable evidences of utter neglect. In fact her general appearance suggested nothing so much to me as the nondescript craft common on the Indian coast, and called by sailors “country-wallahs.” She provided us with plenty of material for our evening chat, but in the morning other matters claimed our attention and we soon forgot all about her. As we had come over in ballast our stay was to be short, and on the second day after our arrival news came that we were to proceed to Lingan, a small port down the coast, in the morning, and there load soft coal for St. John, New Brunswick. But, much to my surprise, just after supper, as I was leaning over the rail enjoying my pipe, the mate approached me mysteriously and beckoned me aft. As soon as we were out of hearing of the other men, he told me that if I liked to put my dunnage over into the boat, he would pull me ashore, the skipper having intimated his willingness to let me go, although unable to discharge me in the regular way. He had heard that there was a vessel in the harbour in want of a mate, and hoped that thus I might be able to better myself. Being quite accustomed to all vicissitudes of fortune I at once closed with the offer, and presently found myself on the beach of this strange place without one cent in my pocket, in utter darkness and a loneliness like that of some desert island.