this corner-anchored old ark rocked so furiously.  On one side stood a long, low, shelf-like table covered with cracked glass cases, filled with dusty rarities gathered from this wide world’s remotest nooks.  Projecting from the further angle of the room stands a dark-looking den—­the bar—­a rude attempt at a right whale’s head.  Be that how it may, there stands the vast arched bone of the whale’s jaw, so wide, a coach might almost drive beneath it.  Within are shabby shelves, ranged round with old decanters, bottles, flasks; and in those jaws of swift destruction, like another cursed Jonah (by which name indeed they called him), bustles a little withered old man, who, for their money, dearly sells the sailors deliriums and death.

Abominable are the tumblers into which he pours his poison.  Though true cylinders without—­within, the villanous green goggling glasses deceitfully tapered downwards to a cheating bottom.  Parallel meridians rudely pecked into the glass, surround these footpads’ goblets.  Fill to this mark, and your charge is but a penny; to this a penny more; and so on to the full glass—­ the Cape Horn measure, which you may gulp down for a shilling.

Upon entering the place I found a number of young seamen gathered about a table, examining by a dim light divers specimens of skrimshander.  I sought the landlord, and telling him I desired to be accommodated with a room, received for answer that his house was full—­ not a bed unoccupied.  “But avast,” he added, tapping his forehead, “you haint no objections to sharing a harpooneer’s blanket, have ye?  I s’pose you are goin’ a-whalin’, so you’d better get used to that sort of thing.”

I told him that I never liked to sleep two in a bed; that if I should ever do so, it would depend upon who the harpooneer might be, and that if he (the landlord) really had no other place for me, and the harpooneer was not decidedly objectionable, why rather than wander further about a strange town on so bitter a night, I would put up with the half of any decent man’s blanket.

“I thought so.  All right; take a seat.  Supper?—­you want supper?  Supper’ll be ready directly.”

I sat down on an old wooden settle, carved all over like a bench on the Battery.  At one end a ruminating tar was still further adorning it with his jack-knife, stooping over and diligently working away at the space between his legs.  He was trying his hand at a ship under full sail, but he didn’t make much headway, I thought.

At last some four or five of us were summoned to our meal in an adjoining room.  It was cold as Iceland—­ no fire at all—­the landlord said he couldn’t afford it.  Nothing but two dismal tallow candles, each in a winding sheet.  We were fain to button up our monkey jackets, and hold to our lips cups of scalding tea with our half frozen fingers.  But the fare was of the most substantial kind—­not only meat and potatoes, but dumplings; good heavens! dumplings for supper!  One young fellow in a green box coat, addressed himself to these dumplings in a most direful manner.