ternized on shore. "I've a first-rate steward," he had told them,
"and I'll treat you well; and I've the best-trained crew that ever went
to sea. Come, all of you, and bring your first officers. I want to give
you an object-lesson on the influence of matter over mind that you
can't learn in the books."

So they came, at half-past eleven, in their own ships' dinghies, which
were sent back with orders to return at nightfall--six big-fisted,
more or less fat captains, and six big-fisted, beetle-browed, and
embarrassed chief mates. As they climbed the gangway they were met and
welcomed by Captain Benson, who led them to the poop, the only dry and
clean part of the ship; for the _Almena's_ crew were holystoning the
main-deck, and as this operation consists in grinding off the oiled
surface of the planks with sandstone, the resulting slime of sand, oily
wood-pulp, and salt water made walking unpleasant, as well as being
very hard on polished shoe-leather. But in this filthy slime the men
were on their knees, working the six-inch blocks of stone, technically
called "bibles," back and forth with about the speed and motion of an
energetic woman over a wash-board.

The mates also were working. With legs clad in long rubber boots, they
filled buckets at the deck-pump and scattered water around where
needed, occasionally throwing the whole bucketful at a doubtful spot on
the deck to expose it to criticism. As the visitors lined up against
the monkey-rail and looked down on the scene, Mr. Becker launched such
a bucketful as only a second mate can--and a man who happened to be in
the way was rolled over by the unexpected impact. He gasped a little
louder than might have been necessary, and the wasting of the bucketful
of water having forced Mr. Becker to make an extra trip to the pump,
the officer was duly incensed.

"Get out o' the way, there," he bawled, eying the man sternly. "What
are you gruntin' at? A little water won't hurt you--soap neither."

He went to the pump for more water, and the man crawled back to his
holystone. It was Bigpig Monahan, hollow-eyed and thin, slow in his
voluntary movements; minus his look of injury, too, as though he might
have welcomed the bowling over as a momentary respite for his aching
muscles.

Now and then, when the officers' faces were partly turned, a man would
stop, rise erect on his knees, and bend backward. A man may work a
holystone much longer and press it much harder on the deck for