"It never was worth a rap," the sailor answered. "I wouldn't give a
cuss for any of the British settlements. Give me real niggers, chaps as
knows nothing of law or civilizing, or any rot of the sort. I can pull
along with them.

"I have often wondered how you managed it," Girdlestone said curiously.
"You succeed in picking up a cargo where the steadiest and best men
can't get as much as a bag of nuts. How do you work it?"

"There's many would like to know that," Miggs answered, with an
expressive wink.

"It is a secret, then?"

"Well, it ain't a secret to you, 'cause you ain't a skipper, and it
don't matter if you knows it or not. I don't want to have 'em all at
the same game."

"How is it, then?"

"I'll tell ye," said Miggs. He seemed to have recovered his serenity by
this time, and his eyes twinkled as he spoke of his own exploits.
"I gets drunk with them. That's how I does it."

"Oh, indeed."

"Yes, that's how it's worked. Lord love ye, when these fust-class
certificated, second-cousin-to-an-earl merchant skippers comes out they
move about among the chiefs and talks down to them as if they was tin
Methuselahs on wheels. The Almighty's great coat wouldn't make a