cheerful work of the 'Storm-Wave;' and lauded himself and his nation to the skies, as great, glorious, and free' the meaning of the latter word not being, however, quite apparent to his juvenile listeners. Mr. Snawthin was sardonic and sneering in his cups, evincing a heartless brutality and recklessness of life under a thin cover of Yankee wit and epigram. Mr. Ephraim Muzzler was calmly contemptuous of the fair-weather hop-o'-my-thumbs;' while Tyler, who acted as third mate and carpenter, did not hesitate to say that the ship deserved all the work that could be got out of British varmin, and that he, Tyler, was just the 'coon to see that she got her due.'

6

Arty Bennett made enemies of them all-if indeed they could be called in any sense of the word, friends before---by refusing now, as he had always done since being at sea, to drink any grog; but Bob Hillsden was (as he expressed it) not such a fool, and drank quite enough to prove to Snawthin, who watched them both narrowly, that he could with mingled threats and soft talk be brought to do anything that was required of him.

CHAPTER II.

BLACK SAM.

'GUESS yew don't like this 'ere barky?' queried Mr. Snawthin one evening to Bob Hillsden, while the latter was leaning over the taffrail comparing in most melancholy mood his present 'hard work, bad grub, and no pay' position with the lazy, wellfed times he had of it as an 'officer' on board the 'Queen Bess.' Mr. Snawthin had come sneaking up behind him, as was his usual habit, so that the first intimation Bob had of his presence was the jet of tobacco-juice which the mate jerked across his face before he spoke.

Bob prevaricated; he generally did so when he required time to collect his wits.

'I don't like so much going to New Orleans, sir; we mayn't be able to get a ship home.'

'There's no want of Britishers homeward bound from New Orleens, so yew needn't scare at that; why don't yew like this 'ere "Storm Wave"?' Snawthin was not a man to be put off, and would return to the charge till he got his answer.

'Well,' went on Bob, hesitatingly, 'well, of course one likes to be with one's own countrymen, and'

'There ain't no fault to find with my countryfolk?'

'No, sir; no.' Bob thought he was getting in a fix, and felt uncomfortable as he said hastily, 'I don't find fault.'

'And there ain't no fault to find with this 'ere "Storm Wave," is there, younker?'

'N-no; not that I know of.'

Then why don't yew like her?' 'But I do like her, sir.'

Snawthin squirted a great patch of tobacco-juice at the crest of a rising wave, and smiled grimly as he hit the exact spot he had aimed at :

'That's a lie, young feller-an uncommon tough lie, too! But never mind; I like a chap as is ready with his tongue. 'Taint half the worry with a feller as spits out his lies free as-as— -' Mr. Snawthin was at a loss for a metaphor, so he gave a practical illustration, and went on-' as easy as I squirt out that rale Virginny juice. Now that there mate o' yourn is a chuckle-headed coon as'll get into mischief with our boss ef he don't mind himself, he will.'

I hope not, sir,' said Bob, feeling uncomfortable. He liked Arty Bennett as well as he could like anybody save himself, though, indeed, that was saying but little enough.

He will; that younker is bound to run foul of our boss; and ef he do, he'll run foul of an un

common hard-grit man. Now yew'll do; yew will, ef yew keep your tongue in the right place and say nothing but what yew hears your officers say, or know they would say. Yew keep a wide berth from that pesky Bennett, er he'll get yew into warmish water-mind yer.'

Mr. Snawthin relieved his feelings with a prodigious and accurate shot at some stuff floating past, and resumed his stealthy walk on the weatherside of the poop.

The ship was running free down the east coast of Madagascar-the Mozambique Channel having been purposely avoided on account of the weather to be expected there at the time of the year; and though the Captain had been in tolerable temper, as he always was when the Storm Wave' bowled along at a good pace, he had fallen foul of Arty Bennett on more than one occasion, showing unmistakably that hard grit' Mr. Snawthin had warned young Hillsden of. There had also been a fair share of rows on board between the four Americans and the mongrel crew, Black Sam coming specially in for more kicks than halfpence, and being picked out particularly by Captain Potts for any stray ill-usage that might be going-the Captain had never forgotten the tumble into the tar-pot.

'Tell you what 'tis, Massa Bennett,' said Sam one day when they were both up in the fore-top

overhauling some frayed gearing (for Bennett and Hillsden were nothing whatever, in spite of the articles they had signed as 'junior officers,' but 'boys before the mast'); 'tell you what 'tis. Dat boss he down on Black Sam for good an' all. He hate the man of color, he do, like all dem Souf Caroliny mean-whites, and he shoot Sam if he get chance!'

They had been talking of a row which had arisen the previous week, in which the Captain had struck the negro with a heavy iron belaying-pin on the side of the skull, and had been actually dragged off the man by Tyler and Ephraim Muzzler, who did not care about permanent injury to a valuable hand, if it could be avoided.

'Shoot you, Sam? Oh, no; you need not be frightened at that. How could he, here on board, with all the hands about?'

Arty had been rather startled by the solemn tone in which the negro spoke, but of course, on consideration, he felt there could be nothing in his words.

'Men's been made away with-particularly men ob color on board many a ship like dis, and nothin' ever heard or seen or spok' ob dem more. Look'ee, Massa Bennett, dat dam Potts, he done it before. He shoot man down on last ship and den trow him over-board-alive!'