at last, he commenced by dragging one-rope's end from one side and
another from the other; those would do for the side ropes, but he wanted
a long one from forward and another from aft, and how to get the one
from aft under the cutter's bottom was a puzzle; and then there was the
mast and the rigging in his way;--the corporal reflected--the more he
considered the matter, the more his brain became confused; he was at a
nonplus, and he gave it up in despair: he stood still, took out a blue
cotton handkerchief from the breast of his jacket and wiped his
forehead, for the intensity of thought had made him perspire--anything
like reflection was very hard work for Corporal Van Spitter.

"Tousand tyfels!" at last exclaimed the corporal, and he paused and
knocked his big head with his fist.

"Hundred thousand tyfels!" repeated the corporal after five minutes'
more thought.

"Twenty hundred tousand tyfels!" muttered the corporal, once more
knocking his head: but he knocked in vain; like an empty house, there
was no one within to answer the appeal. The corporal could no more: so
he returned his pocket-handkerchief to the breast of his jacket, and a
heavy sigh escaped from his own breast. All the devils in hell were
mentally conjured and summoned to his aid, but they were, it is to be
presumed, better employed, for although the work in hand was diabolical
enough, still, Smallbones was such a poor devil, that probably he might
have been considered as remotely allied to the fraternity.

It may be inquired why, as this was _on service_, Corporal Van Spitter
did not apply for the assistance of the seamen belonging to the vessel,
particularly to the officer in charge of the deck; but the fact was,