like to attempt to
cross to Dublin in her in anything like rough weather.

Now it must be observed that all these consultations and investigations
took place in a quiet way. To the public eye all was "fair and above
board." Few among the thousands who visited the docks knew much about
deep loading; still less about adequate equipping. They saw nought but
a "noble ship," well painted, washed, gilded, and varnished, taking
merchandise into her insatiable hold, while the "Yo-heave-ho" of the
seamen rang out cheerily to the rattling accompaniment of chains and
windlass. Many other ships were there, similarly treated, equally
beautiful, and quite as worthy of the titles "good" and "noble" as the
whited sepulchre is to be styled pure.

A few days before the _Swordfish_ was ready for sea, a new captain was
sent down to her. This captain was not a "bad man" in the worst sense
of that term--neither was he a "good" one. Vigour, courage, resolution
when acting in accordance with his inclinations--these were among his
characteristics. But he was a reckless man, in want of money, out of
employment, and without an appreciable conscience. In the
circumstances, he was glad to get anything to do, and had been so long
ashore and "in trouble," that he would probably have agreed to take
command of and go to sea in a washing-tub if part paid beforehand for
doing so.

Nevertheless, even this man (Captain Phelps by name) felt some degree of
nervous anxiety on getting on board and examining the state of the ship.
On further acquaintance with her, he was so dissatisfied that he also
resolved to throw up his appointment. But he had obtained the berth
through the influence of a friend who happened to be acquainted with Mr
Webster. This "friend" wrote him a stern letter, saying, if he ventured
to do as he proposed, he should never have a ship out of Liverpool
again, as long as he (the friend?) could prevent it!

Captain Phelps was one of those angry men of iron mould, who appear to
take pleasure in daring Fate to do her worst. On receipt of the letter,
he swore with an awful oath that he would now go to sea in the
_Swordfish_, even if he knew she would go to the bottom in twenty-four
hours after weighing anchor. Accordingly, having intrenched himself
behind a wall of moral adamant, he went about with quiet indifference,
and let things take their course. He made no objection whatever when,
in addition to the loading already in the