"
"Well, I don't see what you prove from that," the captain remarked,"
though I confess it is a strange thing."
"I'll tell you another strange thing," said the mate impressively.
"Do you know the name of this bay in which we are cast away?"
"I have learnt from our kind friends here that we are upon the
Wigtownshire coast," the captain answered, "but I have not heard
the name of the bay."
The mate leant forward with a grave face.
"It is the Bay of Kirkmaiden," he said.
If he expected to astonish Captain Meadows he certainly succeeded, for
that gentleman was fairly bereft of speech for a minute or more.
"This is really marvellous," he said, after a time, turning to us.
"These passengers of ours cross-questioned us early in tile voyage
as to the existence of a bay of that name. Hawkins here and I denied
all knowledge of one, for on the chart it is included in the Bay
of Luce. That we should eventually be blown into it and destroyed is an
extraordinary coincidence."
"Too extraordinary to be a coincidence," growled the mate. "I saw them
during the calm yesterday morning, pointing to the land over our
starboard quarter. They knew well enough that that was the port they
were making for."
"What do you make of it all, then, Hawkins?" asked the captain, with a
troubled face. "What is your own theory on the matter?"
"Why, in my opinion," the mate answered, "them three swabs have no more
difficulty in raising a gale o' wind than I should have in swallowing
this here grog.
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