the clink of steaming tumblers filled the room. Dr. DEADEYE sat with
the rest at the long deal table, puffing mightily at the brown old
Broseley church-warden, whom the heat and the comfort of his evening
meal had so far conquered, that he resented the doctor's treatment of
him only by an occasional splutter. For myself, I sat where the warmth
of the cheerful fire could reach my chilled toes, close by the side
of the good doctor. I was a mere lad, and even now, as I search in my
memory for these long-forgotten scenes, I am prone to marvel at my
own heedlessness in thus affronting these lawless men. But, indeed, I
knew them not to be lawless, or I doubt not but that my prudence had
counselled me to withdraw ere the events befell which I am now about
to narrate.

As I remember, the Doctor and Captain JAWKINS were seated opposite to
one another, and, as their wont was, they were in high debate upon
a question of navigation, on which the Doctor held and expressed an
emphatic opinion.

"Never tell me," he said, with flaming aspect, "that the common
term, 'Port your helm,' implies aught but what a man, not otherwise
foolish, would gather from the word. Port means port, and starboard is
starboard, and all the d----d sea-captains in the world cannot move
me from that." With that the Doctor beat his fist upon the table until
the glasses rattled again and glared into the Captain's weather-beaten
face.[1]

"Hear the man," said the Captain--"hear him. A man would think he had
spent his days and nights upon the sea, instead of mixing pills and
powders all his life in a snuffy village dispensary."