en the cooper's neck-handkerchief, attached to the
end of the hoop, was drawn in and out--the absorbed liquor being
deliberately squeezed into a small bucket.

Bungs was a man after a barkeeper's own heart. Drinking steadily,
until just manageably tipsy, he contrived to continue so; getting
neither more nor less inebriated, but, to use his own phrase,
remaining "just about right." When in this interesting state, he had
a free lurch in his gait, a queer way of hitching up his waistbands,
looked unnecessarily steady at you when speaking, and for the rest,
was in very tolerable spirits. At these times, moreover, he was
exceedingly patriotic; and in a most amusing way, frequently showed
his patriotism whenever he happened to encounter Dunk, a
good-natured, square-faced Dane, aboard.

It must be known here, by the bye, that the cooper had a true sailor
admiration for Lord Nelson. But he entertained a very erroneous idea
of the personal appearance of the hero. Not content with depriving
him of an eye and an arm, he stoutly maintained that he had also lost
a leg in one of his battles. Under this impression, he sometimes
hopped up to Dunk with one leg curiously locked behind him into his
right arm, at the same time closing an eye.

In this attitude he would call upon him to look up, and behold the man
who gave his countrymen such a thrashing at Copenhagen. "Look you,
Dunk," says he, staggering about, and winking hard with one eye to
keep the other shut, "Look you; one man--hang me, half a man--with
one leg, one arm, one eye--hang me, with only a piece of a carcase,
flogged your whole shabby nation. Do you deny it you lubber?"

The Dane was a mule of a man, and understanding but little English,
seldom made anything of a reply; so the cooper generally dropped his
leg, and marched off, with the air of a man who despised saying
anything further.

CHAPTER XVI.

WE ENCOUNTER A GALE

THE mild blue weather we enjoyed after leaving the Marquesas gradually
changed as we ran farther south and approached Tahiti. In these
generally tranquil seas, the wind sometimes blows with great
violence; though, as every sailor knows, a spicy gale in the tropic
latitudes of the Pacific is far different from a tempest in the
howling North Atlantic. We soon found ourselves battling with the
waves, while the before mild Trades, like a woman roused, blew
fiercely, but still warmly, in our face.

For all this, the mate carried sail without sti