out. "In course I ran," he mumbled. "They booted the life hout of
one Dago chap on the passage 'ere, then started on me. I cleared hout
'ere.--" "Left your dunnage behind?"--"Yes, dunnage and money," answered
Donkin, raising his voice a little; "I got nothink. No clothes, no bed.
A bandy-legged little Hirish chap 'ere 'as give me a blanket. Think I'll
go an' sleep in the fore topmast staysail to-night."

He went on deck trailing behind his back a corner of the blanket.
Singleton, without a glance, moved slightly aside to let him pass. The
nigger put away his shore togs and sat in clean working clothes on his
box, one arm stretched over his knees. After staring at Singleton for
some time he asked without emphasis:--"What kind of ship is this? Pretty
fair? Eh?"

Singleton didn't stir. A long while after he said, with unmoved
face:--"Ship!... Ships are all right. It is the men in them!"

He went on smoking in the profound silence. The wisdom of half a century
spent in listening to the thunder of the waves had spoken unconsciously
through his old lips. The cat purred on the windlass. Then James Wait
had a fit of roaring, rattling cough, that shook him, tossed him like
a hurricane, and flung him panting with staring eyes headlong on his
sea-chest. Several men woke up. One said sleepily out of his bunk:
"'Struth! what a blamed row!"--"I have a cold on my chest," gasped
Wait.--"Cold! you call it," grumbled the man; "should think 'twas
something more...."--"Oh! you think so," said the nigger upright and
loftily scornful again. He climbed into his berth and began coughing
persistently while he put his head out to glare all round the
forecastle. There was no further protest. He fell back on the pillow,
and could be heard there wheezing regularly like a man oppressed in his