these
occasional stretchings of contracted tissue; but the two mates chose to
ignore this physiological fact, and a moment later, a little man,
caught in the act by Mr. Jackson, was also rolled over on his back, not
by a bucket of water, but by the boot of the mate, who uttered words
suitable to the occasion, and held his hand in his pocket until the
little man, grinning with rage, had resumed his work.

"There," said Captain Benson to his guests on the poop; "see that
little devil! See him show his teeth! That is Mr. Sinful Peck. I've had
him in irons with a broken head five times, and the log is full of him.
I towed him over the stern running down the trades to take the
cussedness out of him, and if he had not been born for higher things,
he'd have drowned. He was absolutely unconquerable until I found him
telling his beads one time in irons and took them away from him. Now to
get an occasional chance at them he is fairly quiet."

"So this is your trained crew, is it, captain?" said a grizzled old
skipper of the party. "What ails that fellow down in the scuppers with
a prayer-book?" He pointed to a man who with one hand was rubbing a
small holystone in a corner where a large one would not go.

"Ran foul of the big end of a handspike," answered Captain Benson,
quietly; "he'll carry his arm in splints all the way home, I think. His
name is Gunner Meagher. I don't know how they got their names, but they
signed them and will answer to them. They are unique. Look at that
outlaw down there by the bitts. That is Poop-deck Cahill. Looks like a
prize-fighter, doesn't he? But the steward tells me that he was
educated for the priesthood, and fell by the wayside. That one close to
the hatch--the one with the red head and hang-dog jib--is Seldom
Helward. He was shot off the cro'-jack yard; he fell into the lee clew
of the cro'-jack, so we pulled him in."

"What did he do, captain?" asked the grizzled skipper.

"Threw a marlinespike at the mate."

"What made him throw it?"

"Never asked. I suppose he objected to something said to him."

"Ought to ha' killed him on the yard. Are they all of a kind?"

"Every man. Not one knew the ropes or his place when he shipped.
They're schooner sailors from the Lakes, where the captain, if he is
civil and respectful to his men, is as good as any of them. They
started to clean us up the first day, but failed, and I went to sea
with them. Since then, until lately, it has been war to the