," cried one, "we'll have a jolly gam; that's a fact."

"So we will," said another, "and I'll get news of my mad Irish cousin,
Terrence O'Flannagan, who went out to seek his fortin in Ameriky with
two shillin's and a broken knife in his pocket, and it's been said he's
got into a government situation o' some sort connected with the
jails--whether as captain or leftenant o' police, or turnkey, I'm not
rightly sure."

"More likely as a life-tenant of one of the cells," observed Bill
Blunt, laughing.

"Don't speak ill of a better man than yerself behind his back,"
retorted the owner of the Irish cousin.

"Stand by to lower the jolly-boat," cried the captain.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Lower away!"

In a few minutes we were leaping over the calm sea in the direction of
the strange ship, for the breeze had died down, and we were too eager
to meet with new faces, and to hear the sound of new voices, to wait
for the wind.

To our joy we found that the Yankee had had a gam (as I have already
said) with an English ship a few days before, so we returned to our
vessel loaded with old newspapers from England, having invited the
captain and crew of the Yankee to come aboard of us and spend the day.

While preparation was being made for the reception of our friends, we
got hold of two of the old newspapers, and Tom Lokins seized one, while
Bill Blunt got the other, and both men sat down on the windlass to
retail the news to a crowd of eager men who tried hard to listen to
both at once, and so could make nothing out of either.

"Hold hard, Tom Lokins," cried one. "What's that you say about the
Emperor, Bill?"

"The Emperor of Roosia," said Bill Blunt, reading slowly, and with
difficulty, "is--stop a bit, messmates, wot can this word be?--the
Emperor of Roosia is----"

"Blowed up with gunpowder, and shattered to a thousand pieces," said
Tom Lokins, raising his voice with excitement, as he read from _his_
paper an account of the blowing up of a mountain fortress in India.

"Oh! come, I say, one at a time, if you please," cried a harpooner; "a
feller can't git a word of sense out of sich a jumble."

"Come, messmates," cried two or three voices, as Tom stopped suddenly,
and looked hard at the paper, "go ahead! wot have ye got there that
makes ye look as wise as an owl? Has war been and broke out with the
French?"

"I do believe he's readin' the births, marriages, and deaths," said one
of the men, peeping over Tom's shoulder.