t Dane. Not that I know much of ancient Danes, though I
knew a modern Dane who did me out of ten pounds; but I remember once
seeing a picture of some of those gentry, who, I take it, were a kind
of white Zulus. They were drinking out of big horns, and their long
hair hung down their backs. As I looked at my friend standing there by
the companion-ladder, I thought that if he only let his grow a little,
put one of those chain shirts on to his great shoulders, and took hold
of a battle-axe and a horn mug, he might have sat as a model for that
picture. And by the way it is a curious thing, and just shows how the
blood will out, I discovered afterwards that Sir Henry Curtis, for that
was the big man's name, is of Danish blood.[1] He also reminded me
strongly of somebody else, but at the time I could not remember who it
was.

The other man, who stood talking to Sir Henry, was stout and dark, and
of quite a different cut. I suspected at once that he was a naval
officer; I don't know why, but it is difficult to mistake a navy man. I
have gone shooting trips with several of them in the course of my life,
and they have always proved themselves the best and bravest and nicest
fellows I ever met, though sadly given, some of them, to the use of
profane language. I asked a page or two back, what is a gentleman? I'll
answer the question now: A Royal Naval officer is, in a general sort of
way, though of course there may be a black sheep among them here and
there. I fancy it is just the wide seas and the breath of God's winds
that wash their hearts and blow the bitterness out of their minds and
make them what men ought to be.

Well, to return, I proved right again; I ascertained that the dark man
_was_ a naval officer, a lieutenant of thirty-one, who, after seventeen
years' service, had been turned out of her Majesty's employ with the
barren honour of a commander's rank, because it was impossible that he
should be promoted. This is what people who serve the Queen have to
expect: to be shot out into the cold world to find a living just when
they are beginning really to understand their work, and to reach the
prime of life. I suppose they don't mind it, but for my own part I had
rather earn my bread as a hunter. One's halfpence are as scarce
perhaps, but you do not get so many kicks.

The officer's name I found out--by referring to the passengers'
lists--was Good--Captain John Good. He was broad, of medium height,
dark, stout, and rath