on board and shown to the door
of the captain's cabin; the sailor knocked and went away. It was a full
minute, I stood there before the knock was answered, and then from the
inside, in a voice like the roar of a bull, came the call: 'Well, come
in!'

"I opened the door on a scene I shall never forget. A bright light swung
from the beams above, and under it sat a giant of the sea--Captain
Burrows. He had the index finger of his right hand resting near the
North Pole of an immense globe; there were many books about, rolls of
charts, firearms; instruments, clothing, and apparent disorder
everywhere. The cabin was large, well-furnished, and had something
striking about it. I looked around in wonder, without saying a word.
Captain Burrows was the finest-looking man I ever saw--six feet three,
straight, muscular, with a pleasant face; but the keenest, steadiest
blue eye you ever saw. His hair was white, but his long flowing beard
had much of the original yellow. He must have been sixty. But for all
the pleasant face and kindly eye, you would notice through his beard the
broad, square chin that proclaim the decision and staying qualities of
the man."

"That's George Burrows, stranger, to the queen's taste--just as good as
a degerry-type," broke in Enoch.

"Well," continued the stranger, "he let me look for a minute or two, and
then said: 'Was it anything particular?'

"I found my tongue then, and answered; 'I hope you'll excuse me, sir;
but I must confess it is curiosity. I came on board out of curiosity
to--'

"'Reporter, hey?' asked the captain.

"'No, sir; the fact is that your ship has an unusual name, one that
interests me, and I wish to make so bold as to ask how she came to have
it.'

"'Any patent on the name?'

"'Oh, no, but I--'

"'Well, young man, this ship--by the way, the finest whaler that was
ever stuck together--is named for a friend of mine; just such a man as
she is a ship--the best of them all.'

"'Was he a sailor?'

"'Aye, aye, sir, and such a sailor. Fight! why, man, fighting was meat
and drink to him--'

"'Was he a whaler?'

"'No, he wa'n't; but he was the best man I ever knew who wa'n't a
whaler. He was a navy sailor, he was, and a whole ten-pound battery by
hisself. Why, you jest ort to see him waltz his old tin-clad gun-boat up
agin one of them reb forts--jest naturally skeered 'em half to death
before he commenced shooting at all.'

"'Wasn't he killed at the attack on Vicksburg?'