Somebody reminded him of the story of the Birkenhead, which sank within four miles of the English coast with a regiment aboard that was coming home after five years’ absence in India.  They too stood in solid rank on deck, their homes almost in sight, while the women and children were taken off and the ship slowly sank, the officers, with swords drawn, presenting arms to Death.

“Discipline! discipline!” said the captain.  “But one wouldn’t have looked for it in them heathen Chinees.”

Duty! duty! we thought, and were quite sure heathenism had never interfered with that kind of heroism.

“Now, the usual run of American sailors,” said Jacob, who felt by this time that his final verdict was needed, wouldn’t have done that.  Passengers is easier managed in time of a storm than sailors, especially them of coast-ships.  Passengers is like sheep:  they’re so skeert they’ll do what you bids ’em; but the sailors broach the liquor first thing.  I’d rather manage so many pigs than sailors when they get holt of the grog.  There was the City of New York.  When she went down the mate stood with a club in his hand to keep the crew off the Scotch ale which was part of the freight.  Well; sir, they got it, and thar they stayed, drinkin’, till the vessel parted amidships:  couldn’t be got off no-how.  There was three hundred passengers landed from that ship.  We used the apparatus for her:  government had taken hold of the matter then.”

“Before we say anything about the government service, one question about the Jersey wreckers.  They bear a bad name.  The story goes that the Barnegat pirates in old times drew vessels ashore by false lights, and plundered the shipwrecked people.  How about that, Jacob?  Honestly, now!”

“Well, sir, them stories is onjust.  Them men as is called Barnegat pirates are not us fishermen—­never were:  they’re from the main—­colliers and sech—­as come down to a wrack, and they will have something to kerry home when they’re kept up all night.  They do their share of stealin’, I’ll confess; but from Sandy Hook to Cape May it’s innocent to what is done on Long Island.  It’s the stevedores and rigger-men on Long Island—­reg’lar New York roughs.  No man or woman was ever robbed on this beach till they was dead.  Of course I don’t mean their trunks and sech, but not the body.  The Long Islanders cut off the fingers of livin’ people for rings, but the Barnegat men never touch the body till it’s dead. No, sir.”

“And you understand,” interposed the captain eagerly, “these Barnegat robbers are a very different class from Jacob and the crews of surf boats?”

“Certainly.  We understand the noble work which these wrecking-crews have done.—­By the way, how do they choose their captain, Jacob—­the man in the stern, as you call him?  The most brave, heroic fellow, I suppose?”

“I dunno about that,” with a perplexed air.  “We don’t calcoolate much on heroism and sech:  we choose the man that’s got the best judgment of the sea—­a keerful, firm man.  These six men hes got to obey him—­hes got to put their lives altogether in his hand, you see.  They don’t want a headlong fellow:  they want a man that knows the water—­thorough.”