The man on the wharf seemed to be familiar with this sort of sea-wit, and he made no answer, but continued that close scrutiny of the brig, by turning his eyes in all directions, now looking below, and now aloft, which had in truth occasioned Spike’s principal cause for uneasiness.

“Is not that Capt.  Stephen Spike, of the brigantine Molly Swash?” called out the little, dumpling-looking person, in a cracked, dwarfish sort of a voice, that was admirably adapted to his appearance.  Our captain fairly started; turned full toward the speaker; regarded him intently for a moment; and gulped the words he was about to utter, like one confounded.  As he gazed, however, at little dumpy, examining his bow-legs, red broad cheeks, and coarse snub nose, he seemed to regain his self-command, as if satisfied the dead had not really returned to life.

“Are you acquainted with the gentleman you have named?” he asked, by way of answer.  “You speak of him like one who ought to know him.”

“A body is apt to know a shipmate.  Stephen Spike and I sailed together twenty years since, and I hope to live to sail with him again.”

“You sail with Stephen Spike? when and where, may I ask, and in what v’y’ge, pray?”

“The last time was twenty years since.  Have you forgotten little Jack Tier, Capt.  Spike?”

Spike looked astonished, and well he might, for he had supposed Jack to be dead fully fifteen years.  Time and hard service had greatly altered him, but the general resemblance in figure, stature, and waddle, certainly remained.  Notwithstanding, the Jack Tier that Spike remembered was quite a different person from this Jack Tier.  That Jack had worn his intensely black hair clubbed and curled, whereas this Jack had cut his locks into short bristles, which time had turned into an intense gray.  That Jack was short and thick, but he was flat and square; whereas this Jack was just as short, a good deal thicker, and as round as a dumpling.  In one thing, however, the likeness still remained perfect.  Both Jacks chewed tobacco, to a degree that became a distinct feature in their appearance.

Spike had many reasons for wishing Jack Tier were not resuscitated in this extraordinary manner, and some for being glad to see him.  The fellow had once been largely in his confidence, and knew more than was quite safe for any one to remember but himself, while he might be of great use to him in his future, operations.  It is always convenient to have one at your elbow who thoroughly understands you, and Spike would have lowered a boat and sent it to the wharf to bring Jack off, were it not for the gentleman who was so inquisitive about pilots.  Under the circumstances, he determined to forego the advantages of Jack’s presence, reserving the right to hunt him up on his return.