sightless eyes blinking at the coals. "Great big bull of a feller.
'Normous chest. Legs o' granite. Used ter fight wi' bar o' iron. Ho! Ho!
Weighed half a hunded. Tremenjus weapon! If he hit you, you
know--_dash_!--out go your brains. Ho! ho! He was fond o' me. If I saw
him sulky, or anythin', up I'd go, an' 'What's matter?' I'd say. Peter'd
say, 'So-a-so.' 'Oh blow,' I'd say, and walk off. He looked up to me.
R'spected me. Peter was always behind me in action. Always. Never let me
be killed. Never! _Bang! Crack!_ Brain any man who come near me. Fond o'
me."

Joe, we gather, was fourteen years at sea without ever coming home. He
was a pirate in the China seas for years. He was in the Baltic during
the Crimea. He has been to the bottom of the sea two or three times. He
has fought hand-to-hand with many a shark. He has been shipwrecked a
score of times. The experience of St. Paul in a good cause hardly
exceeds for suffering the experience of Old Joe in a bad one. For six
days and seven nights he and seven others were tossed about the sea
without food in a row-boat. Two of the men died, and were eaten by the
rest, with the exception of Joe, who could not stomach cannibalism for
all he was such a terrible fellow. Then they were picked up by the
famous _Alabama_, and Joe fought in the great American War of North
_versus_ South.

"I was put in prison," he says, with a roar of laughter. "Two years. In
Allybammer. Two years in dungeon. In the Harbour there. Allybammer
Harbour."

"Alabama, he means," whispers Mr. Wells. "You've heard of Alabama, I
dare say? Somewhere in Ameriky, isn't it? Ah! Well, that's what Joe
means--Alabama."

"Two years!" laughed Joe; and then, with a great roar of delight, he
adds, "Went off my nut! In dungeon. Clean off my nut!"

"What Joe means," whispers Mr. Wells, slowly and dogmatically, "is that,
while he was in prison in Alabama Harbour, he lost his reason: 'Off his
nut' is slang for losing his reason. Now, I dare say that that is true.
I shouldn't be surprised if it was."

"Then I went Canada," bellows Joe, striking a fresh match. "Buff'lo
hunter! Ho! Ho! Fought the Injuns. Red Injuns. Killed hundreds. _Slish!
C-r-r-r-r! Bang! Dash! Gurrrr!_ Hundreds. Red Injuns! I killed hundreds
myself. Ho! Ho! I dashed their brains out. Ho! Ho! Injuns. Red Injuns!"

It is some time before he grows really calm after illustrating with
tremendous energy his ferocity against the poor Red Indians. Even Mr.