tight race it was--we ran down to the
Behamey Banks. There we picked up a Yankee schooner loaded with shingles
and lumber; and as the skipper was sarsy, I just made him and his crew
walk one of his own planks, and then bored a couple of holes through his
vessel, arter taking out some water which we stood in need of. You
hasn't a drop of summut to drink, has you, Captain Brand? becase it
makes my jaw-tackle dry to talk much."

The captain merely motioned with a wave of his cambric handkerchief
to an open liquor-case which stood on a cabinet near, and to which
Mr. Gibbs hobbled; when, seizing a square flask of crystal incased in
a network of frosted silver, he returned with it to the table. Had
Mr. Gibbs chosen he might have brought with the flask a small,
thimble-shaped liqueur glass; but he did not, and contented himself
with a china coffee-cup which stood on the tray before him. He seemed a
little near-sighted too; and as he inverted the flask, gave no heed to
the quantity of fluid he poured into the cup. But he took care, however,
that it did not run over; and then, raising it with a trembling hand
to his lips, he said, "My sarvice to you, Captain Brand," and tossed it
down his capacious throat. The captain gave no response to this
compliment, but as Mr. Gibbs put down the coffee-cup he said blandly,

"Thank you; but suppose you put that flask back in the case. I am
rather choice with that brandy; it was a--given to me by a--person who
was a--unfortunately hanged, and a--I rarely offer it a--the second
time."

Puffing his cigar as he spoke in an easy manner, he then turned round to
listen to Mr. Gibbs's narrative. Becoming more genial as the brandy
loosened his tongue, Mr. Gibbs continued:

"Well, sir, from the Behameys we ran to leeward, nearly to the Spanish
Main, in hopes, perhaps, of finding some stray fellow as was bound to
Europe; but we see nothing for days and days, and weeks and weeks, till
finally the water fell short again, and we beats up and runs into Santa
Cruz. There, as luck would have it, Eboe Pete and French Tom got into a
bit of a scrimmage up on a gentleman's plantation arter sunset, and was
werry roughly handled by a patrol of sogers as happened to be near. I
believe as how Eboe Pete died that night; and I heerd, too, that French
Tom had his skull cracked; and what does he go for to do but make a
confession to the authorities that the 'Centipede' was a pirate!

"Well, captain, the moment tha