happened
to be a mere white man. Yet, as they went all together towards the
forecastle, he condescended to put his head through the galley door and
boom out inside a magnificent "Good evening, doctor!" that made all the
saucepans ring. In the dim light the cook dozed on the coal locker in
front of the captain's supper. He jumped up as if he had been cut with
a whip, and dashed wildly on deck to see the backs of several men going
away laughing. Afterwards, when talking about that voyage, he used to
say:--"The poor fellow had scared me. I thought I had seen the devil."
The cook had been seven years in the ship with the same captain. He was
a serious-minded man with a wife and three children, whose society he
enjoyed on an average one month out of twelve. When on shore he took
his family to church twice every Sunday. At sea he went to sleep every
evening with his lamp turned up full, a pipe in his mouth, and an open
Bible in his hand. Some one had always to go during the night to put out
the light, take the book from his hand, and the pipe from between his
teeth. "For"--Belfast used to say, irritated and complaining--"some night,
you stupid cookie, you'll swallow your ould clay, and we will have no
cook."--"Ah! sonny, I am ready for my Maker's call... wish you all
were," the other would answer with a benign serenity that was altogether
imbecile and touching. Belfast outside the galley door danced with
vexation. "You holy fool! I don't want you to die," he howled, looking
up with furious, quivering face and tender eyes. "What's the hurry?
You blessed wooden-headed ould heretic, the divvle will have you soon
enough. Think of Us... of Us... of Us!" And he would go away, stamping,
spitting aside, disgusted and worried; while the other, stepping out,
saucepan in hand, hot, begrimed and placid, watched with a superior,
cock-sure smile the back of his "queer little man" reeling in a rage.
They were great friends.

Mr. Baker, lounging over the after-hatch, sniffed the humid night in
the company of the second mate.--"Those West India niggers run fine and
large--some of them... Ough!... Don't they? A fine, big man that, Mr.
Creighton. Feel him on a rope. Hey? Ough! I will take him into my watch,
I think." The second mate, a fair, gentlemanly young fellow, with a
resolute face and a splendid physique, observed quietly that it was
just about what he expected. There could be felt in his tone some slight
bitterness which Mr. Baker very