ed claws
half a dozen of the "pickled" biscuits, and some morsels of cured fish.

It was a coarse and meagre meal; at which even a pauper would have
pouted his lips; but to those for whom it was intended it had relish
enough to make it not only acceptable, but welcome.

A greater delicacy was before their eyes, lying on the deck of the
_Catamaran_. That was the albacore,--a fish whose _flesh_ is equal in
excellence to that of any taken out of the ocean. But the flesh of the
albacore was _raw_; while that of Snowball's stock, if not cooked, was
at least cured; and this, in the opinion of the Catamarans, rendered it
more palatable.

With a little "Canary" to wash it down, it was not to be despised,--at
least, under the circumstances in which they were who supped upon it;
but the wine was sparingly distributed, and drunk with a large admixture
of water.

The bump of economy stood high upon the skull of the Coromantee.
Perhaps to this might be attributed the fact of his being still in
existence: since but for the industry he had exhibited in collecting his
stores, and his careful hoarding of them, he might, with his _protege_,
have long before succumbed to starvation.

While eating their frugal supper, Snowball expressed regret at not
having a fire,--upon which he might have cooked a cut from the albacore.
The _chef-de-caboose_ was not ignorant of the excellence of the fish.

He really felt regret,--less on his own account, than in consideration
of his _protege_, Lilly Lalee; whose palate he would fain have indulged
with something more delicate than sun-dried fish and salty biscuit.

But as fire was out of the question, he was compelled to forego the
pleasure of cooking Lalee's supper; and could only gain gratification by
giving to the girl more than her share of the sweet Canary.

Small as was the quantity distributed to each, it had the effect of
still further cheering them; and, after supper, they sat for some time
indulging in lighter converse than that to which they had lately
accustomed themselves.

"Somethin'" said the sailor, "seem to tell me--jest as if I heerd it in
a whisper--that we'll yet reach land, or come in sight o' a ship. I
doan' know what puts it in my head; unless it be because we've been so
many times near going down below, an' still we're above water yet, an' I
hope likely to keep so."

"Ya--ya! Massa Ben. We float yet,--we keep so long 's we kin,--dat fo'
sartin. We nebba say die,--