Spike now led the way below, Wallace following, leaving the midshipman on deck, who had fallen into conversation with the relict and her pretty niece.  The half-deck of the brigantine contained spare sails, provisions, and water, as usual, while quantities of old canvas lay scattered over the cargo; more especially in the wake of the hatches, of which there were two besides that which led from the quarter-deck.

“Flour to the number of eight hundred barrels,” said Wallace, striking his foot against a barrel that lay within his reach.  “The cargo is somewhat singular to come from New York, going to Key West, my dear Spike?”

“I suppose you know what sort of a place Key West is, sir; a bit of an island in which there is scarce so much as a potatoe grows.”

“Ay, ay, sir; I know Key West very well, having been in and out a dozen times.  All eatables are imported, turtle excepted.  But flour can be brought down the Mississippi so much cheaper than it can be brought from New York.”

“Have you any idee, lieutenant, what Uncle Sam’s men are paying for it at New Orleens, just to keep soul and bodies together among the so’gers?”

“That may be true, sir—­quite true, I dare say, Mr. Spike.  Have n’t you a bit of a chair that a fellow can sit down on—­this half-deck of your’s is none of the most comfortable places to stand in.  Thank you, sir—­thank you with all my heart.  What lots of old sails you have scattered about the hold, especially in the wake of the hatches!”

“Why, the craft being little more than in good ballast trim, I keep the hatches off to air her; and the spray might spit down upon the flour at odd times but for them ’ere sails.”

“Ay, a prudent caution.  So you think Uncle Sam’s people will be after this flour as soon as they learn you have got it snug in at Key West?”

“What more likely, sir?  You know how it is with our government—­always wrong, whatever it does! and I can show you paragraphs in letters written from New Orleens, which tell us that Uncle Sam is paying seventy-five and eighty per cent. more for flour than anybody else.”

“He must be a flush old chap to be able to do that, Spike.”

“Flush!  I rather think he is.  Do you know that he is spendin’, accordin’ to approved accounts, at this blessed moment, as much as half a million a day?  I own a wish to be pickin’ up some of the coppers while they are scattered about so plentifully.”

“Half a million a day! why that is only at the rate of $187,000,000 per annum; a mere trifle, Spike, that is scarce worth mentioning among us mariners.”

“It’s so in the newspapers, I can swear, lieutenant.”

“Ay, ay, and the newspapers will swear to it, too, and they that gave the newspapers their cue.  But no matter, our business is with this flour.  Will you sell us a barrel or two for our mess?  I heard the caterer say we should want flour in the course of a week or so.”