ad, an expression of woe-begone
desolation on his visage, his black legs apart, and a ship's bucket
between them. It were bad taste to be too particular as to details
here!

On quitting Ratinga, Tomeo and his brother chief had said that nothing
would rejoice their hearts so much as to go to sea. Their wish was
gratified, and, not long afterwards, they said that nothing could
rejoice their hearts so much as to get back to land! Such is the
contradictoriness of human nature.

There was a stiffish breeze blowing, as one of the man-of-war's-men
expressed it and "a nasty sea on"--he did not say on what. There must
have been something nasty, also, on Tomeo's stomach, from the violent
way in which he sought to get rid of it at times--without success.

"Oh! Buttchee, my brother," said Tomeo (of course in his native
tongue), "many years have passed over my head, a few white streaks begin
to--to--" He paused abruptly, and eyed the bucket as if with an
intention.

"To appear," he continued with a short sigh; "also, I have seen many
wars and suffered much from many wounds as you--you--ha!--you know,
Buttchee, my brother, but of all the--"

He became silent again--suddenly.

"Why does my brother p-pause?" asked Buttchee, in a meek voice--as of
one who had suffered severely in life's pilgrimage.

There was no occasion for Tomeo to offer a verbal reply.

After a time Buttchee raised his head and wiped his eyes, in which were
many tears--but not of sorrow.

"Tomeo," said he, "was it worth our while to forsake wives and children,
and church, and hymns, and taro fields, and home for th-this?"

"We did not leave for this," replied Tomeo, with some acerbity, for he
experienced a temporary sensation of feeling better at the moment; "we
left all for the sake of assisting our friends in--there! it comes--
it--"

He said no more, and both chiefs relapsed into silence--gazing the while
at the buckets with undue interest.

They were interrupted by the sudden entrance of Ebony.

"Come, you yaller-cheeked chiefs; you's die if you no make a heffort.
Come on deck, breeve de fresh air. Git up a happetite. Go in for salt
pork, plum duff, and lop-scouse, an' you'll git well 'fore you kin say
Jack Rubinson."

Tomeo and Buttchee looked up at the jovial negro and smiled--imbecile
smiles they were.

"We cannot move," said Tomeo and Buttchee together, "because we--w--"
Together they ceased giving the reason--it was not necessary!