mean all those men you were ordering about when I first came
on board," I said.

"Bedad, my hearty, there's no doubt but ye ought for to go to say, as ye
aid y'rsilf," rejoined the boatswain indignantly. "It shows how grane
yez are to misthake a lot av rowdy rapscallion dock loompers for genuine
Jack Tars! Them fellers were ownly the stevedores, hired at saxpence
the hour to load the ship; an' they wint off in a brace av shakes, as
you must have sayn for y'rsilf, whin their job was done! No, me bhoy,
them weren't the proper sort av shellbacks. There's ownly fower raal
sailors, as ye call's 'em, now aboard, barrin' Misther Mackay and the
second mate; an' them's Adams over thar aft at the wheel, these two idle
jokers here beside me, the ship's bhoy, an' thin mesilf--though, faix,
me modesty forbids me say'n it, sure!"

"And are you really the only sailors on board?" I said, much surprised
at this piece of information, being under the impression that the others
had all gone below.

"Iv'ry ha'porth," he answered; "that is, lavin' out ye're brother
middies, or `foorst-class apprentices' loike y'rsilf, Misther Gray-ham--
faix, though, they aren't sailors yit by a long shot. There's that
Portygee stooard, too, that the cap'an's got sich a fancy for, I'm sure
I can't till why, as he's possissed av the timper av ould Nick himsilf,
an' ain't worth his salt, to me thinkin'!"

"And is that the captain up there now with Mr Mackay?" I asked.

"That the skipper? Bless ye, no, me lad--that's ownly the river pilot!"

"Where is the captain, then?" was my next query, without stopping to
think.

"By the powers, ye bates Bannagher for axin' quistions, Misther Gray-
ham!" cried Tim, amused at my cross-examination of him--just as if he
were in a court of justice, as he afterwards said when he brought up the
matter one day.--"Sure, how can I till where he or any other mother's
son is that I can't say before my eyes? I can till you, though, where I
belaives him to be this blissid minnit; an' that is, by the `Crab an'
Lobster' at Gravesend, lookin' out for to say if he can say the Silver
Quane a-sailin' down the sthrame."

"And will he come on board there?" I asked.

"Arrah, will a dook swim?" replied the boatswain in Irish fashion. "Av
coorse he will, in a brace av shakes. Ould Jock Gillespie ain't the
sort av skipper to lit the grass grow under his cawbeens, whin he says
his ship forninst him!"

"Oh, he'll come on boar