ns, and put into the try-pots, which were kept in constant
operation. At night the ship had all the appearance of a vessel on
fire, and the scene on deck was particularly striking and unearthly.

One night several of the men were grouped on and around the windlass,
chatting, singing, and "spinning yarns." Ailie Dunning stood near them,
lost in wonder and admiration; for the ears and eyes of the child were
assailed in a manner never before experienced or dreamed of even in the
most romantic mood of cloud-wandering.

It was a very dark night, darker than usual, and not a breath of wind
ruffled the sea, which was like a sheet of undulating glass--for, be it
remembered, there is no such thing at any time as absolute stillness in
the ocean. At all times, even in the profoundest calm, the long, slow,
gentle swell rises and sinks with unceasing regularity, like the bosom
of a man in deep slumber.

Dense clouds of black smoke and occasional lurid sheets of flame rose
from the try-works, which were situated between the foremast and the
main-hatch. The tops of the masts were lost in the curling smoke, and
the black waves of the sea gleamed and flashed in the red light all
round the ship. One man stood in front of the melting-pot, pitching in
pieces of blubber with a two-pronged pitchfork. Two comrades stood by
the pots, stirring up their contents, and throwing their figures into
wild uncouth attitudes, while the fire glared in their greasy faces, and
converted the front of their entire persons into deep vermilion.

The oil was hissing in the try-pots; the rough weather-beaten faces of
the men on the windlass were smeared, and their dirty-white ducks
saturated, with oil. The decks were blood-stained; huge masses of flesh
and blubber lay scattered about; sparks flew upwards in splendid showers
as the men raked up the fires; the decks, bulwarks, railings, try-works,
and windlass were covered with oil and slime, and glistening in the red
glare. It was a terrible, murderous-looking scene, and filled Ailie's
mind with mingled feelings of wonder, disgust, and awe, as she leaned on
a comparatively clean spot near the foremast, listening to the men and
gazing at the rolling smoke and flames.

"Ain't it beautiful?" said a short, fat little seaman named Gurney, who
sat swinging his legs on the end of the windlass, and pointed, as he
spoke, with the head of his pipe to a more than usually brilliant burst
of sparks and flame that