feeling of each individual miscreant respecting
him.

"Keep clear of Lopez, this watch," Lyons
would say; "if Santos or Marsalino speaks to
you, don't look so cursedly sulky; they' re all
right just now. Fling that knife overboard, you
(something'd) booby! Do you want it in your
own ribs? Now, mind this; if you see Blanco
lounging about you with his hands in his pockets,
sheer wide of him, d'ye hear? Don't go below
for a moment to-day; they don't like it. Keep
out of all dark places, and, when I'm on deck,
take your snooze."

Such—though not conveyed in that precise
language—were some of the directions Michael
had daily to observe, and were sent well home
to his memory by the supplementary information
his instructor had almost always to add—
that his life was to be taken that day, should
the slightest pretext be afforded, and that even
the manner of the deed, by knife, handspike,
slung shot, or flinging overboard, had been
decided on.

With wits sharpened by this intelligence,
Michael did, under a merciful Providence,
weather the dangerous storm: preserved, as
we know, to aid materially in the conviction
of the merciless band, even, of him who saved
him; but whose conduct, with this exception,
unhappily, presented no other feature of
extenuation.

According to Michael, this deed of piracy and
murder—one of the foulest in our annals—had
its origin solely in cupidity. The vessel, a
well-found bark, of about five hundred tons, had
more than the usual number of hands on board.
The crew were all, with one or two exceptions,
practised seamen, who knew their duty,
and, in spite of the variety of languages, did it
well.

The unfortunate captain, Michael declared,
"was a very nice man." So also was the
captain's brother, who had been a master
carpenter, and in whose employ Michael had
purposed to remain, at Singapore.

There was, according to Michael, little or no
ground for discontent on board—some
occasional harshness of expression on the part of
the captain not being worth taking into account
—but an impression had got about among the
men that the ship's freight included a quantity
of specie. It appears to have been a fact that the
captain had with him certain bags of medals, or
metal counters, burnished to look like sovereigns,
and worth about a penny each. The sale of these
impostors, in many parts of the metropolis, but
especially near the river, is so common as to
run no risk of deceiving the most innocent
purchaser. Nevertheless, to their unlucky
presence in the "Flowery Land," was probably
due the catastrophe which bcfel that unfortunate
ship.

Poor Michael, after all his dangers and
escapes—not to mention the assistance he
afforded in bringing the criminals to justice—
ran some risk of perishing by starvation in
liberal England. He was indeed paid for his
attendance as a witness; and, while so engaged,
was provided with a lodging at the house 'of a
policeman; but, the trial over, he was turned
adrift; and had it not been for the refuge offered
by the Sailors' Home, and the kindness of a
charitable gentleman who was present at the trial,
would have been left in a state of actual
destitution: his clothes, money, box of tools, &c.,
having gone down with the scuttled ship. As
the vessel was insured for four or five thousand
pounds, it might have been imagined that the
owners would have taken the poor man's case
into their consideration.

Narrow as Michael Andersen's escape has
been, it was even surpassed in narrowness by
that of a gentleman—Mr. S.—to whom a most
extraordinary adventure occurred about twenty-five
years since, but which, never finding a place
in the Annual or other registers of the time,
may scarcely be remembered.

Mr. S., who had held an appointment in
India, and married, while there, a half-caste
Malay lady of great beauty, embarked with his
wife at Singapore, on board a large country
ship of eleven or twelve hundred tons burden.
In the same vessel were placed a large number
of Chinese convicts, going to fulfil their respective
sentences at different depôts. Now, instead
of providing for these desperadoes a regular
escort, it pleased the authorities to assemble a
sort of "scratch" pack, composed of Sepoys,
pensioned and returning home, and of men
who had been policemen, but who no longer
were.

They had been but a few days at sea, when
Mr. S. was awakened one night by a disturbance
on deck, and, rushing up, found a regular
battle going on between the convicts (who had
risen) and their inefficient guard: apparently to
the disadvantage of the latter. Mr. S. quickly
returned to his cabin, and was groping for his
arms, when the captain rushed in, fired his pistol
through the skylight, and crying out that the
Chinese were masters of the ship, darted up
the steps, threw himself overboard, and was
drowned.

A few minutes of suspense followed, when a
party of convicts came below, and, without
molesting Mrs. S., ordered her husband on
deck. Compelled to obey, he found the deck
deluged with blood, and the victorious convicts
compelling the survivors of the British crew
and Sepoys to "walk the plank."

Presently, it came to Mr. S.'s turn. Instead,
however, of falling at, once into the sea, he, with
great muscular efforts, clung to the plank, and
refused his fate. In vain the murderers tried
to prod him with pikes. He dodged their
points successfully, until, at length, a Chinese,
creeping forward on the plank, aimed a blow at
him with a sabre. In avoiding the stroke, Mr.
S. lost his hold, and fell into the sea.

It was midnight, ihe sea was full of sharks,
Mr. S. could not swim a stroke, the ship wasin
complete possession of the convicts, a thousand
miles from land. Could any position seem more
hopeless? Yet Mr. S. lived to relate the story