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the career of both was the fight on the Heights of Abraham.

When Louisbourg capitulated in 1758, Johnstone, to avoid falling into the hands of the British, slipped away to Quebec, where he was warmly welcomed by De Levis and Montcalm. He planned and fortified the position which Wolfe failed to carry on the 31st July 1759. Montcalm made him his aidede-camp. Then the fortune of war went against him. The death of Montcalm was an irreparable loss for Johnstone, as for France, and the subsequent capitulation placed him in jeopardy. There was uncertainty about the treatment he would receive from the British.

His name was given as M. de la Montagne, but General Murray, when confided in, said he had long known Johnstone was in Canada, and that if he kept out of his way they would not seek him. The British officers showed him every civility, taking care always to call him M. de la Montagne, and no one remarked on the fact that he spoke English so well.

On the 5th of December 1760, from a transport beached in the mud at Maraine, Johnstone stepped on to French soil as he left it ten years before, a subaltern. He was the senior lieutenant, and there were three companies vacant, but he did not get one of them. Three young officers junior to him, and without merit, were promoted over his head. "I own," he says, "that I could never have formed a

just idea of the abuses in the service in France had I not experienced them." We may be sure that be was not a silent witness to this injustice. Eventually, by reason doubtless of his importunity, the Cross of St Louis was conferred on him, and when he left the service he was granted a pension.

Some time between 1772 and 1778, when Viscount Stormont was Ambassador at Paris, Johnstone visited Edinburgh with a letter of introduction from his lordship to Mr John Young, Writer to the Signet, "for the purpose of examining into the rights of an estate to which he laid claim." Another activity of his advancing years was the writing of his memoirs. These he lodged in the Scots College at Paris. Curiously enough he wrote them in French. His pension, "merely sufficient to supply the necessaries of life," had been retrenched by onethird; and he asks sadly, "After having been so often miraculously saved from destruction, shall I escape perishing of hunger in my old age?"

That may have been his fate. The Revolution swept away his pension, small as it was. In 1791 he petitioned the Assembly, which voted him five hundred livres on the ground of his age, and of his having "lost all his property in Scotland." The Colonial archives at Paris contain several of his petitions. No one knows how or when he died. If he lived till 1800, as is thought, he must have been in dire straits.

WHITE POISON.

BY WESTON MARTYR.

I'm feeling fine now, thanks, it gave me such a start I nearly Cap'n. I guess I was about capsized the blame canoe. I all in yesterday when you tell you, Cap., the sight of found me; but it never seems this schooner of yours right to take me long to get on my alongside of me, all sudden and feet again. I'm full of your unexpected, knocked the wind good grub now, and I've pretty clean out of me, and all I near slept the clock round. could do for a bit was just sit And if you'll pass across that there and stare at her like a bottle, it won't be long before fool with my mouth open. I I'm as right as rain. guess you must have thought I'd gone queer in the head. But I was glad to see you all right. Yes. You can say I was mighty glad to see youpush across that bottle.

I must be pretty tough, though, to have stood what I've been through. I've lost count of the time, of course, but I must have been drifting around in that flaming canoe for over a week before you sighted me. Yes. I don't mind saying that if you hadn't happened along yesterday and picked me up, I should most likely have been dead meat by now. I must have been pretty far gone, I think, or I'd surely have seen this schooner coming up as soon as it got light. I'd been spending most of my time before that looking out for a sail; but I never saw a sign of any thing, and I knew I was away off all the usual sailing tracks. So yesterday, I suppose, I just chucked my hand in. As a matter of fact, I was lying in the bottom of the canoe, wishing I was dead, and hoping it wouldn't take long; and when I heard your crowd hailing me, close aboard like that,

That's good gin—if I'm any judge, that is; because it's over two years now since I tasted anything bar water and cocoa-nut toddy. Think of that! Two whole perishing years cut off from all a white man needs. I've been-I've found- But you listen to me, close, and I'll tell you.

Can the hand at the wheel hear what's said down in this cabin? Then-shut the hatch. Now, see here. When you picked me up I wasn't the only one that was lucky. You were in luck too. Because, you see, I'm on to something. D'you understand? I'm on to something good. It's not trade and it's not copra; but there's a pile in it. A big pile, too, by gum, and it's big enough for the two of us. Which is lucky, for, the way things have

turned out, it looks as if I'd got to let you into the thing. I've got the knowledge and you've got the schooner. I can't do much without a schooner, and I'll own up to it. But don't you forget it, you can't do anything either without me. So it'll have to be halves. Share and share alike, and I owe you something anyway for picking me up. I'll just have to trust you and risk getting left with the dirty end of the stick; but, if you'll shake hands on the half share business-well, I'll chance it and tell you.

Right! That's fine. Now we're partners. And how about another drink on the strength of it. And I want to tell you, pard, you've just done the best bit of business you'll ever do in your life. You don't know it, and I'll admit I don't look much like it now; but when you picked me up yesterday you picked up a fine fat fortune too. And if a lagoon that nobody knows of but me, and that's chock-full of pearl oysters-well, if that isn't a fortune, I'll trouble you to tell me what is. Yes. It's a pile all right, and half of it's yours if you'll take me back there.

Well, blow me! if you don't take the thing pretty cool. I suppose, though, you don't believe me. And that's natural enough when I come to think of it, for a man doesn't get a virgin pearl lagoon handed to

But

him on a plate like this every day, and that's a fact. that's just what I'm handing you now. A half of it anyway. But I see I'll have to tell you the whole thing-how it happened, and how I came to find the place. I'll tell it you right from the start, and then I'll bet you believe me all right.

I'm Body, I am. Jim Body, and-before I piled her up on the atoll I'm telling you about

I was owner and skipper of the schooner Tropic Bird. It's well over two years now since we left Rapa, and I was full right up to the beams that trip with shell and copra. We were bound for Auckland, but I kept away to the nor'ard a bit at first, meaning to run my westing down on the edge of the Trades in about 24° S. At the start we did fine. The Trade was fresh and well out of the sou'-east, right over the quarter, so in five days we'd run nearly 800 miles. That put us right in the middle of nowhere, as you'll see if you look at the chart. There's no land round there at all, except Rarotonga, away and gone to the north, and those blame Haymet Rocks that nobody knows where they are for certain, and are even down on the charts E.D.1 Well, doubtful or not, I didn't want to chance hitting 'em, so I looked up the Admiralty Sailing Directions to see what they'd got to say. They said a lot, but it didn't help me much, because

1 E.D. existence doubtful.

it seems the only man who's ever seen those rocks is Haymet himself. They've been searched for since, and nobody's seen a sign of 'em. But they're there, all right. There or thereabouts. Because that Haymet didn't only see 'em-he hit 'em! And so I was wondering if I hadn't better keep away to the nor❜ard and give the place a wide berth, when I happened to read something else in the Directions which made me sit up and take notice. If you'll hand me the book there Pacific Islands, Eastern Groups it is-I'll show you the very words which started the trouble. Look! Page 26. Here it is. "Bank," it says. "A depth of 68 fathoms, rock, was found by the Fabert in lat. 24° 7′ S., long. 158° 33′ W. This vessel was at the time searching for a low island which had been reported to exist in this neighbourhood, but of which she saw nothing." There ! It's a good two years since I read that, but I remember it all plain still. "A low island reported to exist in this neighbourhood." A lost island that didn't belong to nobody. And, if I could find it, it would belong to me! I'd just worked out my noon sight, and it put me about sixty mile to the north-eastward of where that island was supposed to be. And so well, who wouldn't? I altered course to sou'-west, and sent a hand aloft into the fore spreaders with orders to keep his eyes peeled. I didn't really expect to sight anything, VOL. CCXXII.-NO. MCCCXLI.

but there was a chance, and I thought, as I was around that way, I might just as well have a look-see.

Well, we didn't sight a thing. We'd run our distance before it got dark, when there wasn't anything in sight from aloft at all. I went up myself to make sure. So then I made up my mind that if there was a new island knocking about, it wasn't in the place we were looking for it. I didn't feel like losing any more time either, and, to tell you the truth, I was beginning to feel a bit of a fool by then for having run so far off my course already. So I bore away to the west'ard again and turned in.

I don't know what time it was when we hit the place. All I can say is it was mighty dark when we struck. I was pitched clean out of my bunk, and I brought up with my head against something hard enough to knock me clean out. Then, I suppose, a green sea must have come in down the companion, because, when I came to, the cabin was full of water, and I was pretty near drowned. It was the feel of the water, though, that brought me round, and then I crawled up out of there quick. When I got on deck I could tell at once the schooner was done for. There was a biggish sea running, and she was bashing and grinding on the coral something horrid. Both masts were down and lying in a tangle of gear on the fore-deck, and I

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think the mess must have jammed the fo'c'sle hatch and trapped the watch below. I sang out, but nobody answered, so I guessed the same sea which roused me must have washed the mate and the hand at the wheel overboard. Then another sea broke aboard and took charge of me, and the next thing I knew I was clear of the schooner and swimming about in the dark. It was as black as the innards of a cow, and I couldn't see much of anything; but when something hit me in the mouth, I grabbed it and found I'd got hold of one of our hatch-covers. There wasn't much I could do then, of course, except hang on and drift and wait for daylight, so I just hung on and waited. But I want to tell you that was a perishing long wait. Yes. I don't want to have to wait so long again for anything. It seemed as if I was adrift out there for weeks; but it couldn't have been so very long, because I found out afterwards the reef the schooner struck on was less than a mile to wind'ard of the atoll, and, when the light came at last, there I was, only a couple of hundred yards from the shore. There was a mighty nasty surf breaking on the beach that I didn't like the look of at all. I could see I'd get smashed up if I tried to land there; and when I noticed the current was carrying me along the shore, I made up my mind to wait until I'd drifted abreast of some place where the sea wasn't

breaking so bad. The sea was running big, you understand, all the time, and every now and again I'd get washed off that hatch of mine, and I'd have the devil's own job getting back to it again. However, I daren't face that surf on the beach, so I had to stick it out where I was and wait for something to turn up.

After a goodish while noticed I was drifting up to a break in the shore line, and it wasn't long before it opened up, and I could see it was the entrance into a lagoon. I knew then, if only the tide was on the flood, that I was all right; but if it was ebbing, I'd be done for, because the water runs out through most of those lagoon entrances like a regular race, and I was scared I might be out of luck and get caught in it and carried right out to sea. The entrance opened out slowly all the while, and every time a sea'd lift me I could look right into that lagoon. It was as calm as a pond in there, all quiet and peaceful, and the water was shining in the sun and coloured like the inside of a pearl shell. And I can tell you that beach inside looked mighty good to me. I was so close in I could see the little ripples just lapping on the sand, and there I was outside, getting bashed about by those damned great breakers that burst on the seaward shore with such a roar and a crash that it looked, by God, as if they were trying to smash up

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