r the dead-eyes of the
frigate's lower shrouds, and, though in a hurry, still intended to make
a neat job of it. He had a small and rather sharp-pointed marline-spike,
too, which he wore habitually, like a talisman, round his neck, and
which stood him in hand in the intricate parts of his task.

Taking in at a glance the exact amount of hide stuff he required, he
middled the coils, and passing each strand fair and square, his old
bronzed arms went backward and forward, under and over--sometimes
pricking a little hole by accident in the pirate's own thin hide as he
passed the strips by the aid of his marline-spike, but always
apologizing in his bluff, rough way, though without squirting
tobacco-juice into his victim's face, as did Mr. Gibbs to Jacob Blunt.

"Beg pardon, ye infarnal pirate! but that stick will do ye no harm.
It'll heal much sooner than the iron spike one of yer crew drove through
both cheeks of my watch-mate when you gagged him on board the brig.

"I say, old nigger, hand us a little more of that slush, will ye? this
'ere strand won't lie flat. Thankee, old darkey! Kitch hold on that
lower end, will ye? and draw it square up between his pins, and
straighten out that 'ere knee-joint a bit--so fashion.

"I wouldn't hurt ye, you ugly villain, for a chaw of tobaccy.

"Warm work, shipmate! suppose you just toddle down to the boat for that
'ere grafted bottle lyin' in the starn sheets, and bring a tin pot of
fresh water with you; the gentleman might be thirsty, you know. _I
am_--Benjamin Brown, of Sandy Pint, seaman."

So Benjamin plaited Captain Brand, late of the "Centipede," down on his
bier; not a thong too little, or one in the wrong place. A strand
between each of his toes, and the big ones turned up in quite an
ornamental way, and worked around with a Turk's-head knot.

"Breathin' works all reg'lar, too, no bit of hide bearin' an onequal
strain over his bread-basket. Throat and jaw-tackle in fair talkin'
order, little finger free; and there, Capting Brand, jist let old Ben
reward ye, good for evil, ye child-murdering scoundrel, for the lick
your mate gave him with the pistol on the head, by placing this soft
pillow of green silk rope under your bare skull. There! a little this
side, so as ye can look at your finger, while I pass this broad piece of
stuff over your ear. Don't ye look at me, ye infarnal scoundrel, or I'll
let this 'ere copper spike slip into one of yer junk-bottle glims!

"Now," co