' to the mission smacks, if it
was for nothin' else than the books, an' doctor stuff, an' mitts what
the shoregoin' ladies--bless their hearts!--is so fond o' sendin' to
us."

"Ay, an the cheap baccy, too, that they say they're a-goin' to send to
us," added Freeman.

"P'r'aps they'll send us cheap grog at last," said Puffy, with a laugh.

"They'll hardly do that," remarked Martin; "for it's to try an' keep us
from goin' for our baccy to the _copers_ that they've started this new
plan."

"I wish 'em success," said Lockley, in a serious tone. And there was
good ground for that wish, for our genial and handsome skipper was
peculiarly weak on the point of strong drink, that being to him a
powerful, almost irresistible, temptation.

When the fish-cleaning and packing were completed, the men went below to
snatch a few hours' repose. Wet, weary, and sleepy, but with a large
stock of reserve strength in them, they retired to the little cabin, in
which they could scarcely stand up without bumping their heads, and
could hardly turn round without hitting their elbows on something or
other. Kicking off their long boots, and throwing aside oilskin coats
and sou'-westers, they tumbled into their narrow "bunks" and fell asleep
almost without winking.

There was one among them, however, who did not sleep long that night.
Fred Martin was soon awakened by the pain of his wound, which had begun
to inflame, and by a feeling of giddiness and intense uneasiness with
which he had been troubled for several days past.

Turning out at last, he sat down in front of the little iron stove that
served to cook food as well as to warm the cabin, and, gazing into the
embers, began to meditate on his strangely uncomfortable sensations.

"Hallo, Martin, anything wrong?" asked the mate, who descended at that
moment to relight his pipe.

"I believe there is, mate. I never felt like this afore. I've fowt
against it till I can hardly stand. I feel as if I was goin' to knock
under altogether. This hand, too, seems gittin' bad. I do think my
blood must be poisoned, or somethin' o' that sort. You know I don't
easily give in, but when a feller feels as if little red-hot wires was
twistin' about inside of him, an' sees things goin' round as if he was
drunk, why--"

"Why, it's time to think of goin' home," interrupted Jay, with a laugh.
"But let's have a look at you, Fred. Well, there does seem to be some
o' your riggin' slack. Have you eve