d to the state-room during
the passage.

At Cape Cod the wind parted company with us without saying as much
as "Excuse me"; so we were nearly two days in making the run which in
favorable weather is usually accomplished in seven hours. That's what
the pilot said.

I was able to go about the ship now, and I lost no time in cultivating
the acquaintance of the sailor with the green-haired lady on his arm.
I found him in the forecastle--a sort of cellar in the front part of the
vessel. He was an agreeable sailor, as I had expected, and we became the
best of friends in five minutes.

He had been all over the world two or three times, and knew no end of
stories. According to his own account, he must have been shipwrecked
at least twice a year ever since his birth. He had served under Decatur
when that gallant officer peppered the Algerines and made them promise
not to sell their prisoners of war into slavery; he had worked a gun
at the bombardment of Vera Cruz in the Mexican War, and he had been on
Alexander Selkirk's Island more than once. There were very few things he
hadn't done in a seafaring way.

"I suppose, sir," I remarked, "that your name isn't Typhoon?"

"Why, Lord love ye, lad, my name's Benjamin Watson, of Nantucket. But
I'm a true blue Typhooner," he added, which increased my respect for
him; I don't know why, and I didn't know then whether Typhoon was the
name of a vegetable or a profession.

Not wishing to be outdone in frankness, I disclosed to him that my name
was Tom Bailey, upon which he said he was very glad to hear it.

When we got more intimate, I discovered that Sailor Ben, as he wished
me to call him, was a perfect walking picturebook. He had two anchors, a
star, and a frigate in full sail on his right arm; a pair of lovely blue
hands clasped on his breast, and I've no doubt that other parts of his
body were illustrated in the same agreeable manner. I imagine he was
fond of drawings, and took this means of gratifying his artistic taste.
It was certainly very ingenious and convenient. A portfolio might
be misplaced, or dropped overboard; but Sailor Ben had his pictures
wherever he went, just as that eminent person in the poem,

"With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes"--was accompanied by
music on all occasions.

The two bands on his breast, he informed me, were a tribute to the
memory of a dead messmate from whom he had parted years ago--and surely a
more touching tribute was never e