And now the reader will perceive why Corporal Van Spitter was in a dilemma.  With all the good-will in the world, with every anxiety to fulfil his duty, and to obey his superior officer, he was not a seaman, and did not know how to commence operations.  He knew nothing about foddering a vessel’s bottom, much less how to fodder it with the carcass of one of his fellow-creatures.  The corporal, as we said before, turned round and round the compass to ascertain if he could compass his wishes; at last, he commenced by dragging one-rope’s end from one side and another from the other; those would do for the side ropes, but he wanted a long one from forward and another from aft, and how to get the one from aft under the cutter’s bottom was a puzzle; and then there was the mast and the rigging in his way;—­the corporal reflected—­the more he considered the matter, the more his brain became confused; he was at a nonplus, and he gave it up in despair:  he stood still, took out a blue cotton handkerchief from the breast of his jacket and wiped his forehead, for the intensity of thought had made him perspire—­anything like reflection was very hard work for Corporal Van Spitter.

“Tousand tyfels!” at last exclaimed the corporal, and he paused and knocked his big head with his fist.

“Hundred thousand tyfels!” repeated the corporal after five minutes’ more thought.

“Twenty hundred tousand tyfels!” muttered the corporal, once more knocking his head:  but he knocked in vain; like an empty house, there was no one within to answer the appeal.  The corporal could no more:  so he returned his pocket-handkerchief to the breast of his jacket, and a heavy sigh escaped from his own breast.  All the devils in hell were mentally conjured and summoned to his aid, but they were, it is to be presumed, better employed, for although the work in hand was diabolical enough, still, Smallbones was such a poor devil, that probably he might have been considered as remotely allied to the fraternity.

It may be inquired why, as this was on service, Corporal Van Spitter did not apply for the assistance of the seamen belonging to the vessel, particularly to the officer in charge of the deck; but the fact was, that he was unwilling to do this, knowing that his application would be in vain, for he was aware that the whole crew sided with Smallbones; it was only as a last resource that he intended to do this, and being now at his wit’s end, he walked up to Dick Short, who had been watching the corporal’s motions in silence, and accosted him.

“If you please, Mynheer Short, Mynheer Vanslyperken give orders dat de boy be keel-hauled dis morning:—­I want haben de rope and de way.”

Short looked at the corporal, and made no reply.

“Mynheer Short, I haben tell de order of Mynheer Vanslyperken.”

Dick Short made no reply, but leaning over the hatchway, called out, “Jemmy.”

“Ay, ay,” replied Jemmy Ducks, turning out of his hammock and dropping on the lower deck.