"And a blessed good job for the Flying-Scuds.
It's a God-forsaken spot, that Midway Island." "I've just come from there," said I."It was I who bought the wreck." "Beg your pardon, sir," cried the sailor: "gen'lem'n in the white schooner ?" "The same," said I.
My friend saluted, as though we were now, for the first time, formally introduced.
"Of course," I continued, "I am rather taken up with the whole story; and I wish you would tell me what you can of how the men were saved." "It was like this," said he.

"We had orders to call at Midway after castaways, and had our distance pretty nigh run down the day before.
We steamed half-speed all night, looking to make it about noon; for old Tootles--beg your pardon, sir--the captain--was precious scared of the place at night.

Well, there's nasty, filthy currents round that Midway; YOU know, as has been there; and one on 'em must have set us down.
Leastways, about six bells, when we had ought to been miles away, some one sees a sail, and lo and be'old, there was the spars of a full-rigged brig! We raised her pretty fast, and the island after her; and made out she was hard aground, canted on her bilge, and had her ens'n flying, union down.

It was breaking 'igh on the reef, and we laid well out, and sent a couple of boats.

I didn't go in neither; only stood and looked on; but it seems they was all badly scared and muddled, and didn't know which end was uppermost.