ard to our mess.

The carpenter was a young Irishman, shipped for the first time. This was
the first time I had been to sea with a ship carpenter who was not either
a Russian, a Finn, or a Swede. The steward was a little mulatto, who
announced, as he sat down, after bringing in the hash, that he was bloody
glad he was an Englishman, and looked at me for approval.

This was to show that he did not approve of the scene he had witnessed on
the main deck in the morning, and I accepted it as a token of friendship.

"'Tis cold th' owld man thinks it is, whin he has th' skylight wide
open," said Chips, looking up at the form of Trunnell, who stood on the
poop. There was a strange light in the young fellow's eye as he spoke, as
if he wished to impart some information, and had not quite determined
upon the time and place. I took the hint and smiled knowingly, and then
glanced askance at the steward.

"Faith, he's all right," blurted out Chips; "his skin is a little off th'
color av roses, but his heart is white. We're wid ye, see?"

"With me for what?" I asked.

"Anything," he replied. "To go back, to go ahead. There's a fellow
forrads who says go back while ye may."

"An' it's bloody good advice," said the steward, in a low tone.

"I'm not exactly in command aboard here," I said.

"D'ye know who is?" asked Chips.

"His name is Thompson, I believe," I answered coldly, for I did not
approve of this sudden criticism of the skipper, much as I disliked
his style.

"See here, mate, ye needn't think we're fer sayin' agin the old man, so
hark ye, don't take it hard like. Did ye iver hear tell av a sailorman
a-callin' a line a 'rope' or a bloomin' hooker like this a 'boat'? No,
sir, ye can lay to it he's niver had a ship before; an' so says Jim
Potts, the same as passed th' line fer ye this mornin'. Kin I pass ye the
junk? It's sort o' snifty fer new slush, but I don't complain."

"What's the matter with the meat?" I asked, glad to change the
conversation.

"Jest sort o' snifty."

"That's what," corroborated the steward, looking at me. "Jest sort o'
smelly like fer new junk."

"What has Jim Potts got against the old man?" I asked. "You said he
didn't believe the skipper had been in a ship before."

"Nothin' I knows of, 'cept he was hot fer turnin' back this mornin' an'
tried to get th' men to back him in comin' aft."

"Do you mean it's mutiny?"

"Lord, no; jest to blandander ye inter tackin' ship. He most persuaded