into the air a column
of serpent's flesh that looked as thick as the maintopmast of a
seventy-four, opened a mouth that looked capacious enough to swallow
the largest buoy anchor in the ship, and, with a strange grating noise
between a bark and a hiss, dived, and was seen no more.

When he was gone, they all looked at one another like men awaking from a
dream.

Staines alone took it quite coolly. It did not surprise him in the
least. He had always thought it incredible that the boa-constrictor
should be larger than any sea-snake. That idea struck him as monstrous
and absurd. He noted the sea-serpent in his journal, but with this
doubt, "Semble--more like a very large eel."

Next day they crossed the line. Just before noon a young gentleman
burst into Staines's cabin, apologizing for want of ceremony; but if
Dr. Staines would like to see the line, it was now in sight from the
mizzentop.

"Glad of it, sir," said Staines; "collect it for me in the ship's
buckets, if you please. I want to send A LINE to friends at home."

Young gentleman buried his hands in his pockets, walked out in solemn
silence, and resumed his position on the lee-side of the quarter-deck.

Nevertheless, this opening, coupled with what he had heard and read,
made Staines a little uneasy, and he went to his friend Fitzroy, and
said, "Now, look here: I am at the service of you experienced and
humorous mariners. I plead guilty at once to the crime of never having
passed the line; so, make ready your swabs, and lather me; your ship's
scraper, and shave me; and let us get it over. But Lord Tadcaster is
nervous, sensitive, prouder than he seems, and I'm not going to have him
driven into a fit for all the Neptunes and Amphitrites in creation."

Fitzroy heard him out, then burst out laughing. "Why, there is none of
that game in the Royal Navy," said he. "Hasn't been this twenty years."

"I'm so sorry," said Dr. Staines. "If there's a form of wit I revere, it
is practical joking."

"Doctor, you are a satirical beggar."

Staines told Tadcaster, and he went forward and chaffed his friend the
quartermaster, who was one of the forecastle wits.

"I say, quartermaster, why doesn't Neptune come on board?"

Dead silence.

"I wonder what has become of poor old Nep?"

"Gone ashore!" growled the seaman. "Last seen in Rateliff Highway. Got a
shop there--lends a shilling in the pound on seamen's advance tickets."

"Oh! and Amphitrite?"

"Married the sext