"The captain--Where's the captain, of this craft?" he said,
pointing to the Curlew.

"Oh, you mean the Doctor," said I. "Well, he isn't here at
present."

At that moment the Doctor arrived with his arms full of
note-books and butterfly-nets and glass cases and other natural
history things. The big man went up to him, respectfully touching
his cap.

"Good morning, Captain," said he. "I heard you was in need of
hands for a voyage. My name's Ben Butcher, able seaman."

"I am very glad to know you," said the Doctor. "But I'm afraid I
shan't be able to take on any more crew."

"Why, but Captain," said the able seaman, "you surely ain't going
to face deep-sea weather with nothing more than this bit of a lad
to help you--and with a cutter that big!"

The Doctor assured him that he was; but the man didn't go away.
He hung around and argued. He told us he had known of many ships
being sunk through "undermanning." He got out what he called his
stiffikit--a paper which said what a good sailor he was--and
implored us, if we valued our lives, to take him.

But the Doctor was quite firm-polite but determined--and finally
the man walked sorrowfully away, telling us he never expected to
see us alive again.