you could see a light in it all night; and if you went near, you might listen to Old Goss singing roaring songs about the brisk boys of the Spanish main, and yelling and huzzaing to himself, and drinking what he called his five-water grog.  Five-water grog, mates—­that was one of his jokes.  It was rum made hot on the fire; and he could drink it scalding and never wink:  and he would drink it till he got reg’lar wild.  He was never right-down drunk, but just wild, like a savage beast!  And then he would jump up, and make-believe he was fighting, and holler out to give it to the Spanish dogs, and that there were lots of doubloons below.  I’ve gone myself with other youngsters, to listen at the door; and once when he was in the fit, yelling and singing, and laughing and swearing, all at once, I’m jiggered if he didn’t out with a brace of old brass-mounted ship’s pistols, and fire them right and left in the air, so that we cut and run a deal faster than we came.  Of course the report soon got about that Captain Goss was an old pirate, or at the best an old bucaneer; and the Barking folks used to tell how many crews he had made walk the plank, and how there was blood-marks on his hands, which he used to try to cover with tar.  But no one dared to say a word of this to him; and as he was a prime sailor, and even kind after his fashion, when he had taken first a reg’lar quantity of his five-water grog, he never wanted hands.  At sea, he was often wild enough with liquor; but he no sooner put his hand on the tiller, than he seemed all right:  and the Lively Nan walked through it like smoke.  I’m jiggered, mates, if that old fellow couldn’t sail a ship asleep or awake, drunk or sober, dead or alive.

Well, then, such was my old captain, Bobby Goss; and now I’ll tell you what happened to him.  One evening, in the autumn-time, and just when we were beginning to look out for the equinoctials, the Lively Nan was lying with her anchor a-peak—­for we didn’t mean to stay long—­in Yarmouth Roads.  There were three men on board, and one boy with myself; they called him Lawrence.  I forget his other name, for I aint seen him for many a year.  Well, the men had all turned in for’ards, and we two were left to wait for the captain, who had gone ashore; and after he came back, to take our spells at an anchor-watch till daylight, when we were to trip, and be off to the Dogger.  The weather was near a dead calm, and warm for the time of year.  The Lively Nan was lying with her gaff hoisted half-way and the peak settled down, so that we mightn’t lose any time in setting the sail in the morning; and Lawrence and I were lying in the fo’castle, with our pipes in our mouths, watching the shore, to see if the captain was coming off, and seeing the sun go down over the sand-hills and the steeples and the wind-mills of Yarmouth.  There weren’t many vessels in the Roads; but the Yarmouth galleys, that go dodging about among the sands, were stretching