"He's been below twice during the watch, an' each time he's gettin' worse
an' worse. There he comes now to the edge of the poop."

I looked and saw our old man rolling easily across the deck to the poop
rail. There he stopped and bawled out loudly,--

"Lay aft to the main-brace."

The men on watch hesitated a moment and then came crowding aft and began
to cast off the weather-brace from its belaying-pin.

It was so dark I couldn't see how many men were there, but I noticed Bill
the quartermaster, and as I stood waiting to see what would happen, a
little sailor by the name of Johnson, who had a face like a monkey's and
legs set wide apart, so they never touched clear up to his waist, spoke
out to a long, lean Yankee man who jostled me in the darkness.

"Don't pull a pound on the bleeding line. The old cock's drunk, an' we
ain't here to be hazed around decks like a pack o' damned boys."

The skipper, however, didn't wait to see if his order was carried out,
but came down from the poop and asked for Trunnell and myself. We went
with him into the forward cabin, and he motioned us to sit down.

"Did you ever see such a lot o' confounded fools?" he said. "Here I calls
for to take a pull in the main-brace, and the whole crowd of duff-eaters
come layin' aft as if the skipper of a ship should blow them all off to
drinks. Blast me, Trunnell, I'd 'a' thought you'd get them into better
discipline. It's come to a fine state o' things when the whole crew turns