“Don’t pull a pound on the bleeding line.  The old cock’s drunk, an’ we ain’t here to be hazed around decks like a pack o’ damned boys.”

The skipper, however, didn’t wait to see if his order was carried out, but came down from the poop and asked for Trunnell and myself.  We went with him into the forward cabin, and he motioned us to sit down.

“Did you ever see such a lot o’ confounded fools?” he said.  “Here I calls for to take a pull in the main-brace, and the whole crowd of duff-eaters come layin’ aft as if the skipper of a ship should blow them all off to drinks.  Blast me, Trunnell, I’d ‘a’ thought you’d get them into better discipline.  It’s come to a fine state o’ things when the whole crew turns to every time I get thirsty.  But never mind, sing out as you says, and tell the steward what kind o’ pisin you’ll mix with your blood current.  Mine’s the same old thing.”

“It’s my watch below now,” said Mr. Trunnell, “an’ if you’ll excuse me, I’ll turn in.  The third mate’s gone below some time ago.”

“Oh, the boat’s all right.  It’s dead calm, and she can’t hurt herself floating around this ocean,” said the old man.  “You can take a drink before you go.  Steward!  Ahoy there, steward!”

“Yessir,” said that active mulatto, springing out of his cabin.  “Yessir; I hears yo’, cap’n.”

“What’ll you have?” asked Thompson, addressing the mate.

Trunnell scratched his big bushy head a moment, and then suggested that a bottle of the ginger pop which the steward had in the pantry would do for him.

“Hell’n blazes, man, take a drink o’ something,” cried Thompson, turning upon him with his fierce eyes.  “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothin’, only I drinks what I drinks or else I don’t drink at all,” said Trunnell.  “Ye asked me what I’d have, an’ I says it.”

“All right, Shorty,” said Thompson, in mock gravity.  “You drinks what you drinks.  What’s yours, Rolling?”

“As I’ve just turned to, a little soda will do for me,” I answered.  “I’d rather take my grog in the morning at regular hours.”

Thompson let his hand fall upon the table with a crash, and then sat motionless, looking from one to the other, his long, beak-like nose twitching convulsively.

“Steward,” said he, with a nasal drawl which made his hooked nose wrinkle, “get Mr. Trunnell a drink o’ ginger pop, or milk, if he prefers it, and then, steward, you may get Mr. Rolling a drink o’ sody water.  It’s hot, but I reckon it’ll fizz.”

“Yessah.  What’s yourn, cap’n?”

“You don’t think there’s a priest aboard here, do you, steward, hey?”

“No, sah, ‘tain’t likely, but I ken find out, sah.  Shall I get yo’ drink fust, sah?”

“Well, I dunno, I dunno, steward; I can’t think what I kin take what won’t offend these gentlemen.  You might see first if there’s a priest, an’ if you find one you can bring me a pint or so o’ holy water.  If it’s too strong for you,” said he, turning toward Trunnell and myself, “I can get the steward to dilute it for me, hey?”