smuggled across the bay: in two ships already
he had braved the penitentiary and the gallows; and yet, by last
accounts, he now commands another on the Western Ocean.

As I have said, I was never quite certain whether Mr. Nares (the mate)
did not intend that his superior should escape. It would have been like
his preference of loyalty to law; it would have been like his prejudice,
which was all in favour of the after-guard. But it must remain a matter
of conjecture only. Well as I came to know him in the sequel, he was
never communicative on that point, nor indeed on any that concerned the
voyage of the Gleaner. Doubtless he had some reason for his reticence.
Even during our walk to the police office, he debated several times with
Johnson, the third officer, whether he ought not to give up himself, as
well as to denounce the captain. He had decided in the negative, arguing
that "it would probably come to nothing; and even if there was a stink,
he had plenty good friends in San Francisco." And to nothing it came;
though it must have very nearly come to something, for Mr. Nares
disappeared immediately from view and was scarce less closely hidden
than his captain.

Johnson, on the other hand, I often met. I could never learn this man's
country; and though he himself claimed to be American, neither his
English nor his education warranted the claim. In all likelihood he
was of Scandinavian birth and blood, long pickled in the forecastles
of English and American ships. It is possible that, like so many of his
race in similar positions, he had already lost his native tongue. In
mind, at least, he was quite denationalised; thought only in English--to
call it so; and though by nature one of the mildest, kindest, and most
feebly playful of mankind, he had been so long accustomed to the cruelty
of sea discipline, that his stories (told perhaps with a giggle) would
sometimes turn me chill. In appearance, he was tall, light of weight,
bold and high-bred of feature, dusky-haired, and with a face of a clean
even brown: the ornament of outdoor men. Seated in a chair, you might
have passed him off for a baronet or a military officer; but let him
rise, and it was Fo'c's'le Jack that came rolling toward you, crab-like;
let him but open his lips, and it was Fo'c's'le Jack that piped and
drawled his ungrammatical gibberish. He had sailed (among other
places) much among the islands; and after a Cape Horn passage with
its snow-squalls and i